Symbiosis
by corvusdraconis
Summary: Summary: [HG/Loki] Dystopian What-if? Some would say the Aether was never meant for mortals or gods, having existed long before either, but what if it was simply waiting for the right vessel—someone broken just enough, betrayed just enough, to accept the bond that would make both of them whole again. [EWE, Non-Canon, AU/AO]
1. The Missing Piece

**Summary: [HG/Loki] Dystopian What-if?** Some would say the Aether was never meant for mortals or gods, having existed long before either, but what if it was simply waiting for the right vessel—someone broken just enough, betrayed just enough, to accept the bond that would make both of them whole again.

 **A/N:** Like all my stories, there will be magical creature cuteness that may or may not involve helpful spiders. Oops!

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own Marvel. Don't own JKR's stuff. Just playing in the sandbox.

 **Warning/Trigger:** Attempted Rape. It doesn't end well for them. Not graphic.

 **Citrus Warning:** Last half of this chapter (well somewhere down there) is citrus scenes. *cough* Happy New Year?

* * *

 **Symbiosis**

 **Chapter 1**

 _Symbiosis is the living together in more or less intimate association or close union of two dissimilar organisms in mutualism (the beneficial association between different kinds of organisms) — Merriam-Webster_

The end of the war went out like a whisper, even after the terror and violence ripped the trees from the ground of the Wizarding world and left it like the wake of both hurricane and flood with a chaser of tornado. When the dust had finally settled, Voldemort lay dead, his carcass quickly drying in the sun until it was completely desiccated and shriveled. Beside him lay the body of Hermione Granger, her chest just barely rising and falling as she struggled for each breath.

Yet the crowd that cheered and sent up brilliantly coloured streams of sparks from their wands as they swamped the area where Voldemort had breathed his last did _not_ carry off Hermione and praise her name, no. They ignored her, instead swarming upon Harry James Potter, famed saviour of the Wizarding world. They swept him up in a sea of fame, dragging his best friend, Ronald Weasley along for the ride.

* * *

 **Trollop Hermione Granger Languishes at St Mungo's After Attempting to Take Credit for Defeating Voldemort! Good Riddance!**

* * *

 **Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley Heroes of the Century!**

* * *

 **Headmistress of Hogwarts Shamed By Rioters For Standing Up for Hermione Granger, Muggle-born Fraud!**

* * *

 **Man-Who-Triumphed Harry Potter Marries Ginevra Weasley! Weasley Matriarch Ecstatic!**

* * *

 **Ronald Weasley Insists, "Those Babies Aren't Mine!"**

* * *

 **Harry Potter Named New Head Auror!**

* * *

 **Wizengamot Forced to Allow Weasleys to Hold Multiple Seats**

* * *

 **Dolores Umbridge Reportedly Missing After Suspicious Fiendfyre**

* * *

 **Heroes of the Wizarding War Memorial Erected at Ministry**

* * *

 **Hero Harry Potter Takes Over Estate of Severus Snape: Fiendfyre Trap Consumes Everything. Mass Obliviations in Cokesworth**

* * *

 **Goblins Deny Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley Access to All Vaults Due to Refusal to Pay Restitution**

* * *

 **Goblins Deny Heroes Harry Potter's and Ronald Weasley's Attempt to Garnish Wages of Hermione Granger For Fraud and Slander. Heroes State, "We'll Be Back."**

* * *

 **Hermione Granger's Home Burned To Ground and Blasted with Dungbombs. "We Don't Want That Slyboots Mudblood In Our Town!"**

* * *

 **Anti-Muggleborn Tensions Rise Again!**

* * *

 **Muggleborn Citizens Denied Housing. "Go Back Where You Came From!" Angry Crowds Yell**

* * *

 **Muggleborns Blame Hermione Granger For Ruining Their Lives**

* * *

 **Hermione Granger Under Auror Protection After Attempt on Her Life Via Cursed Baked Goods—No Suspects Listed**

* * *

 **Hermione Granger Injured While Under Auror Protection—Head Auror Harry Potter States: This Is All Just a Big Misunderstanding**

* * *

 **Minister For Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt Forced to Resign After Initiating Investigation Into War Hero Harry Potter's Professionalism**

* * *

 **Arthur Weasley Named New Minister For Magic**

* * *

 **Wizard Wheezes Drives Competitors Out of Business in Twenty Cities. Superior Products Win the Day, States Founder George Weasley**

* * *

 **George Weasley Denies Claims of Corruption**

* * *

 **Quibbler Founder, Xenophilius Lovegood, Found Wandering Muggle Town in a Daze After Printing Article Supporting Embattled Hermione Granger. Neighbours, the Minister For Magic and Wife Molly Claim They Heard Nothing**

* * *

Hermione crushed the latest issue of the Daily Prophet in her hand and tossed it into the fireplace, her brown eyes almost lifeless.

"Reading that ridiculous drivel again?" Hobnob asked, tapping on the latest magical device he was working on.

Hermione scowled and sighed, passing the small dragon hatchling a biscuit. "Sit up. There you go." She patted the dragon on the head, rubbing its horn nubs.

The dragon hatchling purred in pleasure and snuggled up to her sleeve.

"You've done such amazing work training those dragons, Hermione," Steelfoot said. "All the goblins think you're quite the gifted dragon whisperer."

"That would be Charlie Weasley," Hermione laughed, her face turning grim shortly after.

"He hasn't visited since the last time they tried to break into your vault," Hobnob said. "I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "Bill hasn't either," she said. "He even works for Gringott's. I can't really blame either of them. Their mother makes their lives hell if they so much as say my name."

"You were only honourable one in that entire group, Dragonheart. We wouldn't have given you your own goblin name had that not been true," Steelfoot said.

"Did you guys name me, or did the dragons?" Hermione laughed.

"Naw, if the dragons had named you, you'd be known as Shiny Lady That Brings Me Food."

"At least Dragonheart is easier to say," Hermione mused. Hobnob bared his teeth at her, and she bared hers in return out of respect. It had taken her quite a while to get used to goblin customs and learn the language, but she had served five years paying her share of the damage done to Gringott's due to her infamous escape on the back of an Elder Ukrainian Ironbelly. After she paid off her debt in service without complaint, they offered her a real job, benefits, and a generous quarters in the goblin housing. She had earned her name after successfully training a family of dragons to guard the vaults without any unintentional deaths from staff. Even more importantly, the dragons recognised friend and foe without the rather brutal use of pain-sticks and pain-conditioning.

Gringott's was now her home, and like many of the goblins, she never left. She had never realised just how close the Ironbelly had come to destroying the living areas of hundreds of goblins as it crashed its way through the bowels of the vaults. At first she had grudging respect due to coming back to pay back the goblins, but now she was a goblin in everything but physical appearance—accepted by them all as the "tall goblin" and the "Lady Dragonheart."

Thanks to the exceedingly hostile climate outside of Gringott's, she had not been able to show herself in public for quite some time. Between the public shaming for even suggesting that Harry and Ron had "help" in defeating Voldemort, being a Muggle-born failure, and being painted as a shameless lying harlot by the likes of Rita Skeeter, no story was a good story for Hermione Granger.

Viktor had graciously offered to personally sponsor her immigration to Bulgaria, but the last thing she wanted was for Viktor's reputation to be sullied because of her own. He had stated he hadn't cared at all about the opinions of fools and bigots, but she hadn't wanted the career he loved to suffer because of her. She had been able to sneak out and visit him a few times while under an extensive glamour, lest someone recognise her.

She blamed her ever-uncontrollable hair.

The hatchling dragon headbutted her when she stopped scratching his head, and she huffed at him. "Really? I've only been rubbing you there for an hour now. I need my hand back."

"Skkrrrrk!" the hatchling said.

"I'm so glad Hagrid isn't here," Hermione said fervently. "He'd have the lot of them doing very bad things."

"What sorts of things?" Steelfoot asked, curious.

"Setting fire to everything, for starters," Hermione laughed. "Eating the patrons."

"Well, as long as they are on the blacklist… ," Hobnob said, trailing off.

"Hobnob!" Hermione protested, aghast.

He exposed his teeth at her, apologising, and Hermione bared her teeth in acceptance. "Though I _will_ admit I have thought about it occasionally."

"Whenever you pick up the Prophet?"

"Exactly."

"You need to find yourself a nice goblin to settle down with," Hobnob suggested. "Someone who can accurately count your galleons and give you all the riches you deserve."

"What would _**I**_ do with riches?" Hermione laughed.

"Send photographs to Mr Potter and Mr Weasley with the door of the vault open and gloat that you can actually walk into yours," Steelfoot suggested with an evil glint in his eye.

Hermione snorted, startling the dragon hatchling that had started to doze off in her lap. She walked over to the large nest she had constructed and placed the sleepy hatchling inside, tenderly tucking him into the warmed coals. The dragonet sighed happily and promptly fell fast asleep.

"You may think yourself lesser than the Weasley wizard, my Lady Dragonheart, but you have become your own master," Hobnob said.

An elder goblin with a series of notches in his ears shambled in carrying a tray of food and drinks. "Dinner time, you workaholics," he grunted, but his eyes were sparkling.

"Bless you, Garvsha," Hermione thanked the elder goblin. "I know you didn't have to bring us all that.

"Bah," Garvsha replied. "I know you three will work until you drop if someone doesn't come down here and _Stupefy_ you."

Hermione grinned. She had been, surreptitiously, teaching the Goblins wandless magic. They were not, technically, supposed to have wands, thanks to the Wizarding law, but Hermione had come to be highly practiced in silent, wandless magic after years of learning goblin-magic to work in Gringott's. She'd found the two types amazingly compatible, and it had given her even more respect amongst the goblins for her willingness to teach when all others had seen their kind as below them.

"We let that stupid pair into 'your' vault in the upper levels, Lady Dragonheart," Garvsha said. "Well, the one they _think_ is yours."

Hermione grinned toothily. She couldn't help it. "They would never, not in a million years, ever suspect that you moved all of my assets into the goblin-only vaults."

"We keep our Lady Dragonheart's secrets as we do those of all goblins," Garvsha snorted. "They can just go get bent."

"Garvsha!" Hermione laughed. "So what did they find in 'my' vault?"

"Floor to ceiling filled with issues of the Prophet dating back to—well, who knows?" Garvsha winked. "And one single galleon, broken up into a few knuts."

Hermione took a bite of her chicken sandwich after making sure her coworkers had tea. "Ah, I hope it was truly glorious, their disappointed faces."

"We have photographs," the old goblin said, grinning ferally.

Hermione grinned back. "You always know just how to make a gal feel better, Garvsha."

"You should marry him," Hobnob hissed.

"Hobnob!" Hermione exclaimed, blushing.

Garvsha shook his head. "He teases. I am a happily married goblin with more than enough goblets to spare."

Hermione smiled at the goblin term for children. Goblets made it sound like they were talking about drinking vessels, so humans always thought goblins were way too fascinated by drinking goblets. In Gobbledegook, the term was inflected very differently, but in English, well, things often got lost in translation.

All the dragons were taught in Gobbledegook, so the chances of someone who wasn't a goblin coming down and knowing how to pronounce the commands were incredibly low. The only humans who would know bits and pieces were the curse-breakers, and even Bill had privately admitted that he could barely ask where the bathroom was without accidentally insulting someone's mother. He'd known certain keywords like "duck" "stop" and "sorry" or rather "my deepest apologies for my lack of foresight, elder," which was the most common response to when you were being yelled at by Gringott's upper management goblins of all ages and ranks.

Dragon commands always started with "stop and identify me" which involved holding your hands out for the dragon to dip his or her head down and sniff you. All of them would immediately stop whatever they were doing to identify you, and dragons were _very_ good about identifying strangers. Other commands came after you successfully passed the identification, but if you didn't pass the first, well, you probably weren't going to live long enough to worry about it.

Hermione had always been very proud of her work with the dragons. She favoured the Hungarian Horntails because they were very protective, but if you treated them right from the moment they hatched, they stopped trying to eat you and wanted to play with you instead. Playing looked a lot like wanting to eat you, but the difference was, they didn't _REALLY_ try to eat you. There was that subtle line, somewhere. Hermione had actually forgotten what it was like to be knock-kneed and terrified when facing dragons.

Then again, if she ever had to face a dragon that Hagrid had trained, or _un_ trained as it were, she would probably just Apparate somewhere and let the dragon do its thing until wizards were sent out to "deal with it." Hagrid was like the bad grandparents that undid all the great parenting you gave your children the rest of the year. Then, in the two days you let them spend with said grandparents, all the bad habits came back full force.

"Varko and Mundercoy both had emergencies come up, Lady Dragonheart," Garvsha said. "Would you mind cataloging the incoming Auror skid of confiscated artefacts and moving it into the Auror Vaults?"

"Of course, I'll help," Hermione agreed.

Garvsha yawned, showing all of his sharply pointed teeth. "There was some sort of drama at a warehouse somewhere. More artefacts than they've ever had to process all at once, so of course, when they run out of secure space—"

"They always crawl back to the goblins," Hobnob muttered. "Like we can simply conjure extra space."

"Well, technically—" Hermione started to say.

"Shhht!" Steelfoot shushed.

Hermione flushed, staring at her tea. "Goblin magic is for goblins to know and others to only wish they knew," she said automatically.

"Exactly," Garvsha said with clear approval.

The other two goblins shook their heads, rolling their eyes, putting on the perfect mask of goblin innocence when Garvsha gave them a fierce glare. Hermione grinned, twisting her face into stoic impassiveness when Garvsha looked back at her.

"Hrmmph," the old goblin grunted, tutting. "Up with you then, Lady Dragonheart. I don't want you up until the wee hours trying to catalog everything. Just take a count, extract memories of the inventory, and go to bed."

"Yes, Dad," Hermione said cheekily, scurrying off to the snickers of the other two goblins.

"Psh," Garvsha grumbled. "Goblets."

"You love her," Hobnob said, tapping on his project.

Garvsha bared his teeth. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps, nothing," Steelfoot muttered. "You're an old softy."

Garvsha muttered and waved his hands. "Finish your projects and go to bed."

"Yes, Dad," the goblins chimed together.

Garvsha bared his teeth and shambled off, muttering, "Goblets."

* * *

"What do you mean the Aether is _**GONE**_ **?!** " Thor slammed his hands down on the table, and it cracked, falling into two pieces. The Asgardian stared down at the broken table. "Why is this table so shabbily made?!"

"Definitely the table's fault," Stark muttered, tinkering with a device with a pair of tiny tweezers.

A pitcher of something foamy went sailing by his head, but Tony dodged, not even flinching. Fury caught the mug of frothy beverage and set it down on another table. "The Collector was moving items into a different warehouse and was… bushwacked by scuffling people brandishing some kind of sticks."

"Fighting sticks?" Sif asked.

"Pain sticks?" Thor asked.

" _Stick_ sticks," Fury said. "Twigs."

They stared at Fury. "We only have the half-security tapes before they went fuzzy. People dressed in bathrobes shaking twigs at people."

Thor's eyebrow twitched. "The Aether was taken… by mortals in bathrobes brandishing random tree parts?"

"It sounds distinctly less than plausible when you say it like _that_ ," Fury muttered.

"Has anyone informed the Supreme Pizza?" Tony asked.

"Sorcerer Supreme?" Fury corrected, arching a brow and tapping his eyepatch.

"Supreme pain in my ass," Tony muttered darkly.

"Just because he's as brilliant at what he does as you are with those gadgets of yours, Stark, that doesn't make him a pain in the ass." Fury sighed.

"He's not brilliant," Tony grumbled. "He's a showman. He's arrogant, and he's a pain in my ass."

"So are you," Thor grunted, thunking Mjölnir down on the remains of the table. The table crumbled even more, sending up a cloud of dust as the table gave its final death rattle.

"So, why is this Aether so special?" Tony said, tapping the gadget he had and it zinged through the air and conked Thor squarely in the middle of the forehead. "Oops. Come back here." The gadget came back, thumping into Tony's palm.

Thor glared at Stark. "The Aether is primordial power that can has the potential to unmake and remake the universe. It acts like a parasite, sucking the life from a host and casting them aside when it is done. The dark elves wished to use it to cast the world into darkness. They were attuned to it— or addicted to it. I am not sure, to this day, if the Aether served them or they were enslaved to it."

"Power, then," Tony said.

"Not just _any_ power," Sif said darkly, her fingers drumming on her opposite arm. "Power that predates the creation of the Nine Realms."

"So it's seriously old, got it," Tony said. "You just stuffed this power into a vase and gave it to some crotchety old guy that collects things. Why not keep it up there in Asgard with the rest of your Tesseracty things?"

"Because we can't keep two insanely powerful artefacts so close to each other," Sif pointed out.

"I'm not saying you should wear them together," Tony said. "I am asking why you can't keep them in a vault."

"Odin was worried that keeping two immensely powerful objects together might encourage them to work together."

"We've been stuck in rooms together and we _still_ have trouble working together," Tony muttered. "So, will we be able to track this primordial thingamabob before it—"

"Infects someone, drains them into a dead husk, and moves on to the next, leaving a trail of mayhem and destructions in its wake?" Sif asked.

"Oh, is that all?" Tony said, releasing the gadget as it slammed into Thor's face again, latching onto it like an enamoured octopus. Thor went crashing to the ground. "Oh, good. It works."

* * *

The skid of artefacts was very densely packed, and Varko and Mundercoy were shaking their heads as the Aurors insisted on moving everything in without the goblins interfering.

"Out of the way, knife-ears," the wizard grunted as he guided the skid in.

"Charming," Hermione said, coming up behind Varko and Mundercoy. They bared their teeth at her, and she did the same. She tilted her head slightly in deference to her elders. She had thrown on the drab green Gringott's robes and pulled the hood up and over her head to shadow her face.

Varko patted Hermione on the hand, and they stood out of the way of the Aurors as they struggled with the skid. Hermione watched in the back with the other goblins.

"Take the gravity well off this damn skid!" One Auror snapped, and one of the other rummaged around the pile.

"Can't find it, boss."

"Do better!"

The skid started to topple and the Aurors rummaged around, flinging artefacts in all directions as they struggled to get the one one they were looking for.

" _Accio_ gravity well!" one of them said.

"No!"

Ting! Ting- _ting_ -Ting tah _ting_ TING _tinghhhhh!_

Artefacts flew out of the pile and slammed into the Auror who had recklessly cast the _Accio_. That Auror went tumbling back arse over teakettle, and the spell they had been focusing on the skid snapped. The artefacts went careening off the skid as it tilted abruptly and cracked in half.

 _ **Kasploosh!**_

Artefacts went flying in all directions. Big, small, and everything in between. The Aurors cursed loudly, stumbling over each other as they glared furiously at the one guilty for the careless Accio. The leader of the group, Dawlish, stumbled over a few artefacts and tripped. He slammed into the pile on the skid, sending even more artefacts tumbling off into the vault. Snarling with fury, he grabbed the Accio-offender, wrapping his hands around his neck and slamming him hard into the wall.

"What the _**FUCK**_ , Stanley?" he spat into the other wizard's face.

The artefacts resonated with a strange vibration, and Varko and Mundercoy exchanged glances with Hermione with nervous grimaces.

"You really need to stop," Varko said. "The artefacts are resonating."

The objects were rattling together, crackling and shimmering.

Mundercoy looked around nervously. Cracks were forming in the tiles and stone. He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth as he contemplated something he did not wish to do. "Please, you _must_ stop."

"Get off me!" Stanley, the Accio-wizard cried, throwing a blast of magic that threw Auror Dawlish off and sent him sprawling.

"Marcus!"

"Dawlish!"

Dawlish angrily pulled himself off the ground, and a splinter of one of the artefacts was embedded in his chest. He pulled it out and flung it aside, causing a fine spray of blood to splatter across the artefacts.

"Oh _**no**_ ," Varko and Mundercoy said together, visibly horrified.

 _Crack._

 _CraCK!_

 _CRACK!_

" _ **GET OUT!"**_ Hermione cried. She pushed the goblins behind her towards the door. "Get out of here _now_ , brothers," she hissed insistently in Gobbledegook!

The goblins struggled to flee, but the two nearest Aurors slammed them into a wall. "What have you done?!" the one yelled, blaming the goblin he was throttling.

"Let him go!"

Dawlish flung Hermione against the far wall with his magic. "Incarcerous!" he hissed. "You—" He sneered at her. His face was quivering with rage, augmented by the countless magical artefacts. He waved his wand, activating the Auror-only wards around the room. "There will be no escape for you, Hermione Granger. We've found you at last."

The goblins were trying to get out the vault, but the wards flared up and trapped them all inside.

"Let them go," Hermione said, coughing and choking as Dawlish gripped her neck in a savage grip.

"Auror wards don't drop until our superiors come to see why we've activated them, pet," Dawlish oozed, his hand roaming lazily down Hermione's body as she struggled. "Might be _hours_. Might as well make yourself more comfortable."

"I haven't done anything _wrong_!" Hermione said, straining to reach her wand.

Dawlish smiled wickedly, clapping a circlet around Hermione's neck. "No magic for you, Mudblood. Magic belongs to the pure."

"We won a war to stop such ridiculous prejudices!"

"You mean you just watched as the _real_ heroes won, girl," Dawlish mocked her, forcefully jabbing his wand into her neck.

"I. Protected. Harry," Hermione said, struggling.

"You are _nothing_ ," Dawlish snarled, "but meat. His hand groped down her body, ripping her robes to expose her.

Hermione flushed red, struggling fiercely against her sneering captor.

"Suitable only for a good fuck, eh girl?" Dawlish made a little moaning sound, his tongue sliding over his lips as he stared down at her. "We have time."

" _ **Get away from her!"**_ Varko and Mundercoy cried, running up, but Dawlish flung another spell, blasting the two goblins into the piles of artefacts. Glass broke, wood splintered, and magic trickled like streams of shimmering tears. They struggled to get out of the pile, their bodies flailing in frantic desperation.

"Stupid goblins," the other Aurors laughed. "Come on, Dawlish, hurry up. We want our share too."

"Yeah they'll be coming to check on us soon enough."

Dawlish licked his lips and yanked Hermione down from the wall and threw her to the ground, her head slamming into the pile of artefacts.

Crack. Crackle. Shink!

The sound of glass shattering and crystal breaking was muffled by Dawlish's grunts and Hermione's screams as he inexorably forced her legs apart, ripping away her robes. His hand jerked to his belt, unfastening it and jerking it free of his trousers. "Scream for me, girl," he goaded her. "Scream for me, and maybe you'll survive your trial."

Hermione glared at him as he pressed her cheeks in with his thumb and forefinger. "Get. Bent."

Dawlish backhanded her, smashing her skull hard against the stone floor. Blood leaked out from her hair as her eyes went glassy. Dawlish smiled. So intent was he on having his way with Hermione's body that he did not notice the shimmer of black and crimson fire trickling down the rivulets of magic and into the wound on Hermione's head.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes to find herself seemingly floating in space. She checked herself, and yelled as she realised she was quite naked. The sun blazed far away, and the cosmos spanned before her, nebulas and galaxies rotating on their paths as only Creation knew. Formless darkness lurked, but so, too, did the light. Beyond, celestial dragons glided on the tides of space, keening in a way that made whales seem like amateurs.

" _Need a moment, Miss Granger?"_ a painfully familiar voice said.

"Master?" Hermione gasped, tears in her eyes.

Fathomless black eyes met hers as Snape took off his traveling cloak and wrapped it snugly around her. " _I am not he,"_ Snape said to her, almost sadly. " _I take his form that we may speak."_

Hermione touched his face, tears trailing down her cheeks. "I really wish you were."

Snape's hand touched her cheek. " _You loved him."_

"My master for three years," Hermione said, sniffling. "He taught me everything. Everything I wasn't ready for."

" _Everything you were ready for,"_ Snape's voice said.

"Fifth year he gave me the Murtlap essence to heal the cuts caused by the quills, well, he threw it at me," Hermione said. "By the time I figured out what he had done, I realised— he wasn't anywhere near as horrible as everyone said. He taught me so many things. Called me a fool. Taught me anyway. Comforted me when no one else would. And then one day he was gone. And I would give anything to hear him yell at me again."

" _Your best friends betrayed you,"_ Snape said.

" _Swept away in the fame of the moment."_

" _Leaving you alone."_

"I did not want the fame," Hermione said, pulling the cloak around her. "I just wanted them to remember we all had our parts to play. We all made— sacrifices."

" _Your parents."_

Hermione closed her eyes. "They tortured them— looking for me. They found them, and even though they didn't know who I was anymore— they tortured them still. They weren't even Death Eaters. They just wanted the reward for my 'justice'." Hermione closed her fist, her knuckles white with remembered anger and pain. Then, her face changed, reflecting total despair, and she slumped.

"There is no one left," Hermione whispered. "No one who understands."

" _Your heart is broken,"_ the figure who looked like Snape said sombrely. " _The wounds still bleed freely."_

"I miss him," Hermione said. "He died being hated. I live my _life_ being hated. We had an… understanding. That has left a chasm that cannot ever be filled. Wounds that will never heal."

" _Time has forgotten me as well,"_ he said, tilting his head in a way that was so painfully familiar. " _Cast away for other more malleable, easily tamed power. I have searched the span of Creation for countless millennia, seeking a worthy inheritor since I was first cast aside— betrayed."_

"There was a reason you chose his face, wasn't there?" Hermione said thoughtfully. Her fingers closed around his as she searched his face for an answer. "You're much the same—hated, feared, yet respected. Misunderstood."

" _Seeking a partner who understands,"_ he replied. " _One who can love not the power for the power's sake but the true essence of what has been cast aside by others who have not the wisdom to see beyond the surface."_

He looked at her, his fingers spidered across her face with a gentle brush. " _I have searched all the Realms and the cradle of all Creation for you. Say that you will have me, and we shall never be alone again."_

Hermione traced his face with her fingers. "What will it be like?"

" _Completion,"_ he said softly, his black eyes reflecting infinite starfields.

"Why me?"

" _Perhaps, we were always one," he replied. "And one day, we were broken and parted. Maybe, throughout the eons, me seeking and you from life to life, we passed each other, ever close but never quite touching. I have hungered, raged, rampaged, destroyed and built— hungering for you. Can you not_ feel _it? Come—join with me, and we shall never be parted again. I will show you the heartbeat of countless worlds and you— you can teach me why after all that has been done to you, you can still feel."_

He opened his arms to her, his star-filled eyes as fathomless as the expanse of space.

Hermione looked his face, staring intently into his eyes. "It's _you_ ," she breathed.

" _Join with me,"_ he whispered. " _Let me adore you."_

His body broke into particles, swirling around her in a lover's embrace, caressing her body as it hovered and supported her at the same time.

"Yes." Hermione's body spasmed as the particles surged into her body in a rush, wrapping around her like a cocoon as energy pulsed inside the forming membranes.

 **Badum.**

 **Baaadum.**

 **Ba-DUM.**

The cocoon suddenly burst open, Hermione tearing free of its confines with a scream as a heated solar wind blew through. Wispy fabric swirled around her, seemingly formed of the dark of space and the shimmer of stars. Robes formed around her, fitting themselves to her body as silver, shimmering horns curved up from her wild mane of curls and twisted around into a pair of pristine dragon horns. Fine silver tendrils weaved around her head in an organic circlet, melding with her mane of hair perfectly. As her robes billowed in the solar winds, shimmering armour of seamless shimmering silver and green scales formed around her body. Fine lines of scales formed along her brow and across her skin, fading in and out like the imprint of an ethereal tattoo. Her pupils swallowed her eyes as the inky expanse of space filled the whites of her eyes until only two golden slits remained. Wispy chains of silver swirled around her fingers forming the shape of serpents that wrapped around her wrists like delicate gauntlets and curled lovingly around her fingers like the most elegant of rings.

 **Foooooom!**

Raw magical energy blasted out from her core like the waves of a supernova, destroying and remaking as it traveled outward. Hermione stretched her arms out spread-eagle, letting the energy swirl around her and dance across her skin before falling back, back, back into the darkness of the abyss that was the physical world and the Realm of Midgard.

* * *

"What the _**fuck!"**_

The barriers and wards around the vault's inner chamber broke, and the two goblins cleared out as the remaining Aurors scrambled around the still body of Dawlish. His face was a rictus of horror, his frozen body unable to move save to draw enough air into his lungs to make a choking wheeze of terror and pain. The scream, however, seemed to be more than a mere physical thing. The men covered their ears, but it continued to ring over and over inside their heads.

A miasma of swirling red and black flowed around the witch's body.

 **Crack!**

The collar that had been around her neck suddenly turned to dust. Her body was consumed in the flow of the alien energy and matter. It swirled around her like a living thing, entwining around her body as if to devour her, but then it shot out and pegged each Auror straight to the forehead, burning a magical rune of Uruz, upside-down, in glowing, angry magic. They stopped clutching their ears to tear at their own mouths, screaming as a magical rune carved itself into the bottom of their tongues.

Then the tendrils of magic seemed to slowly fade into nothingness, leaving the room with only the dim glow of torchlight and the remains of the destroyed magical artefacts. The remaining Aurors fled out of the vault, screaming while Dawlish remained frozen like a marble statue with his pants and trousers down in a perpetual state of embarrassingly wilted and shrunken masculinity— terror writ boldly across every line of his face.

* * *

 **Hermione Granger Comatose in St Mungo's After Attack by Ministry Aurors in Gringott's**

* * *

 **We Won't Stand For This: Head Auror Harry Potter Says No One Attacks An Auror and Gets Away With It**

* * *

 **[Picture of Dawlish Statue]**

 **Breaking News: Auror Dawlish Frozen Solid: Caught With His Pants Down While DMLE Points Blame at Hermione Granger For Not Turning Herself In Long Ago**

* * *

 **Ministry Aurors Confess to Heinous Crimes Authorised By DMLE: Head Auror Harry Potter Denies Allegations**

* * *

 **Auror Team Breaks Into St Mungo's To Arrest Hermione Granger Only To Discover Comatose Granger Missing**

* * *

 **Bulgarian Ministry Laughs Off Britain's Demands for Extradition of Wanted Fugitive Hermione Granger**

* * *

 **Headmistress Minerva McGonagall Kicks out Meddling Aurors Says, "Get the Hell Out of My School!"**

* * *

 **Daily Prophet Swamped With Written Confessions Detailing Corruption Rife in DMLE and Ministry**

* * *

 **Truth-Tongue Plague Sweeps Britain. Kids Can't Lie, and Ministry Ablaze with Spontaneous Confessions of Criminal Activity and Wanton Misconduct**

* * *

" **Hero" Ronald Weasley Breaks Down in Diagon Alley, Confesses: I Abandoned Harry and Hermione When They Needed Me the Most. Hermione Saved Us All, and I Loved That No One Believed It!**

* * *

" **I Just Sign Whatever They Tell Me To," Minister for Magic Arthur Weasley Confesses**

* * *

 **Hero Harry Potter Found In His Home Drinking Silencing Potions, Slams Door In Face of Our Reporter**

* * *

 **I Hate Hermione Granger and I'll Write Anything To Make Her Look Bad! Confession by Reporter Rita Skeeter Shocks Nation**

 **Skeeter Also Admits to Being Unregistered Animagus For Years!**

* * *

 **Seamus Finnegan Confesses to Setting Hermione Granger's Home Aflame with Fiendfyre "Because Mrs (Molly) Weasley Makes the Best Biscuits in Britain (and She Asked Me Nicely)!"**

* * *

 **Former Minister For Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt Reinstated: Arthur Weasley Forced to Resign! Over Fifty Unnecessary Employees Sacked!**

* * *

 **Neville Longbottom Appointed New Head Auror for DMLE:**

 **Harry Potter Gets the Sack! Must Pay Back Ill-Gained Spoils of War**

* * *

 **Goblins Demand Restitution From Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley For Destroying Vaults During Rampage**

* * *

 **Goblins Awarded Contents of Sealed Potter and Weasley Vaults by Wizengamot to Cover Costs of Gringott's Reconstruction**

* * *

 **Molly Weasley Sentenced to 10 Years in Azkaban for Vicious Attack on Quibbler's Xenophilius Lovegood! Lovegood states, "I'm Retiring to Be With My Daughter and Her Husband. My Heart Can't Take It Anymore."**

* * *

 **Harry Potter Spotted in Sweden, Then Disappears Into Crowd**

* * *

" **I Impregnated 32 Witches!" Confessed Ronald Weasley. "And I Have No Money!"**

* * *

Loki woke to find out that all his careful planning to get the Aether out of the Collector's grasp had been bungled up by some street fight between mortals with lasers and mortals with wands. That had _not_ been part of the plan. To top it off, he had to be very careful to avoid the gaze of Heimdall by making certain he wasn't anywhere he might be looking. It helped to be in any shape but his accustomed one, but Loki really wanted to get his claws into the Aether so he could remake the realms to his liking.

Somehow, after all the work he had taken to get the Collector to desire moving the Aether from his crowded starship to a supposedly secure place on Earth (which had been no small feat at all) chaos had struck as if to remind him that he may be a god, but life would continue to remind him that he was not as in control as he would like to believe. Loki slammed his palm down on the desk and shoved all of the papers he had been reading away.

Maybe he would get lucky and the Aether would possess another stupid human and leave a trail of death and destruction he could follow. The human would, of course, die having been drained of all life, but humans were so terribly useful in that they were conveniently disposable. They had spunk, he admitted, but they lived short, fleeting lives.

His brother seemed to find them all so fascinating, having learned to respect them— no, to respect _all—_ and his mortal lover had already wrapped her hooks of whatever emotional weakness she could around him. Oh, true, she was brave, indeed. Perhaps she was even intelligent— but in the blink of an eye she would be dead, if not because she was useless to defend herself but her life was fleeting at best.

What use was having an emotional connection when the thing you had softness for would merely wither and die, just like the supposed love of his "family." The moment he had realised who and _what_ he really was, he had been marked as lesser. No amount of proving could show his worth to rule. He would always be Jötunn. Forever less than any Asgardian.

But now, he was driven to find the Aether and make it _his_. With the sceptre gone, and the Tesseract squirreled a way under the All-Father's secret guard—Had he known his "father" had sealed it away so it could only be found by him, he would have taken another approach.

Worst of all— he couldn't feel the Aether anymore. The singularity's siren call had been strangely silenced. There had been a huge surge of energy and then nothing. It was like the Aether ceased to _be_ , or had been shoved back into some nether-dimension as it once had by Bör. Loki crushed the container on the desk in his hand and flung it at the wall, and then all the objects in the room rose up in the air and smashed against the walls too, shattering and breaking into pieces.

Loki glowered out the cracked window into downtown London. The Aether would be his. He just had to find it. _Again_.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes slowly and immediately regretted it. She closed her eyes quickly, moving her hand over her face with a groan and vowed to never, _ever_ open them again. Realising she was just being silly, she tried again, and found that the world had finally stopped spinning around her, and the pounding horrible headache had thankfully ceased.

A plateau pika was staring at her with curiosity, its plump body seeming almost as comical as it was cute. It had plants stuffed in its mouth, but it seemed more interested in figuring out what she was doing than in eating or running away.

Hermione rubbed the space between her eyes and grunted. Her brain felt fuzzy. Her body felt strange, and—

"What the hell am I wearing?" She looked down at herself and saw her serpent gauntlets, rings she didn't remember having, and robes that looked like she'd borrowed Snape's traveling cloak and elven armor from the Lord of the Rings and smooshed them together.

Snow was falling lightly, but oddly she wasn't cold. She did wonder where she was though, save being on a plateau somewhere. The plateau pika had been a big clue. The snow falling on her was the second. Still, she wasn't exactly an expert on plateau pikas save knowing they were found in Tibet and vital to the ecosystem thanks to books she used to read from her father's library.

 _Tibet. Oh. Well, that sort of narrowed it down._

As she looked around, she realised the mental heaviness and world-weariness that had plagued her for the last few years was strangely missing. The raw, salted wounds of betrayal had faded into the background, and she didn't feel the raw, aching loneliness that had been her constant companion for so very long.

Her memory was in a sad state, indeed. Where had she acquired such oddly elaborate clothing? _Why_ did she look like the poster-child for Slytherin? She was certain that Severus was out there laughing at her from the afterlife. At least he _could_ laugh. The thought amused her, and for once, she didn't feel the stab of pain that usually came with his memory. In fact, when she thought of him, she felt warm, as if his arms were wrapped around her again as he let her wail upon him, clinging to his robes like child in desperate need of comfort. Later it had been for mutual comfort— he for the tasks he knew that lay before him and she for the work she knew would surely ostracise her even more.

A part of her had hoped that he would survive it, miraculously, and they could have tried their shot at a normal life both free of the teacher and student stigma and free of plans for some nebulous greater good. It hadn't happened. He had given his life to protect Harry's secret, or Dumbledore's as it truly was. And in the end, it hadn't even been Harry that had taken his wand to Voldemort. It had been her, desperate to save her friends' lives as Harry lay flat on his back in the rubble.

And then it had all gone to hell. Family lost—or the closest she had thought she had—disappeared in a virtual flood of fame and glory for the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Conquered. All of it had meant nothing in the end. In the end, the goblins had become more family to her than _them_. She was never truly one of them in her head, but she had been very close. They had accepted her far better than the ever-fickle citizens of the Wizarding world. They had protected her and sheltered her from the world that had no love for her, making it so Minerva hadn't had to fret and worry about her all the time.

Minerva had wanted to hire her on as a teacher, gossip be damned, but Hermione knew that Hogwarts needed less drama, not more, especially after the war. Minerva, and perhaps some of the other teachers, had not believed the Prophet's lies and industrious painting of her with a figurative scarlet letter. It didn't matter, though. No parent wanted her as a teacher any more than they had wanted a known werewolf on staff.

Yet, had this not been so, she wouldn't have had been able to reform the goblins' treatment of their dragons, and she had come to be quite fond of dragons. Charlie had said, at least before he had stopped visiting, that while he knew how a dragon was most likely going to act, she was the mother. Dragons looked to her like a gosling to its parent— only they never grew out of it. He had confessed to a little jealousy there, but Hermione pointed out that he wasn't going to get much done at the preserve if he had five hundred-some dragons trying to crawl into his lap. He had, begrudgingly, agreed.

Just before he had stolen the dragonet from her lap and cuddled it mercilessly.

A clean river ran nearby, and Hermione could smell the algae and sheer aliveness of it. It pleased her. No where around did she see any farms or smell livestock animals. There was just the crispness of the snow and the not yet frozen river. She could certainly do worse.

She felt her wand in her hand and puzzled a moment, wondering when she had pulled it out, but decided she shouldn't look a gift wand in the mouth. She busied herself, gathering stones and making cement, arranging stone and fibers to make herself a shelter— goblin-style. Years of learning their innate magic and combining it with her own had not gone without certain benefits. Stone-carving and crafting was as a natural to them as metalwork, and she'd "graduated" when she carved out her very first vault within Gringott's. She shifted the stones and earth to make it blend into the terrain seamlessly, sealing the spaces with breathable cement. She diverted a part of the river to flow through her her place, running along a rock channel she had specifically placed for that purpose. No matter how horrible it might get outside, she would always have running water that never truly froze.

She pondered what to do about a chimney, not wanting something gaudy that all but screamed "Hi, I'm living here, thanks." Deciding that smoke was detectable but steam was easily dismissed, she enchanted the stones to heat the water and channeled the water under the dwelling to both heat and provide water. No one would ever be the wiser. Still, hearths were useful for more than burning wood, and she crafted one in case she would need it.

As she stared in the empty dwelling, she decided she needed to be a little more creative. If she was going to live here, she should at least attempt to make it look lived in. She transfigured stones and logs into cupboards and a dining room table and chairs and grass into comfier couches. She lined the walls with nooks for books in case she managed to get her hands on them, and used a marsh reed to make bed to the envy of anything her parents wanted.

She tugged on her beaded bag, and emptied it, guiding all the contents to fill the shelves and make it look less spartan. Then, she enchanted some mage-lights to hover and bring a bit of light in the dimness.

"Well, this looks much better," Hermione decided. She realised that while she had intended to make a small shelter, she'd instead made quite a comfortable home. She smiled a little at that. Somehow, she had ended up in Tibet, and that made her think that there was still very bad things going on in Britain. It was probably for the best if she hunkered down and let things simmer down. She didn't want to get the goblins in trouble on her account. She didn't want anyone to suffer because of her.

Still, they might be worried, as much as goblins ever worried about anything.

She picked up a stone and pointed her wand at it, forming it into a perfect dragon scale. She carved the sigil they used to mark the dragons' living quarters and a tiny mark that she put on all of her work— something all goblins did and would instantly recognise. She concentrated on Garvsha and the little twitch his ears did when he was trying not to be swayed by her and the toothy grimace of satisfaction he would give when he was proud of his people.

 **Floop!**

The stone disappeared, and Hermione stared at her hand hoping that meant it got to where it needed to go. She never remembered anything like that ever happening before…

Deciding to make use of the hot spring she had created, she moved to wriggle out of her layers only to have her robes, what could only be called armour, and under-armor silks move off on their own to hang themselves on the nearby robe hooks. Her gauntlets unwove from around her arms, rings slid off her fingers, and circlet christened the stand of disembodied mannequins that she hadn't remembered making. She slid into the steaming water and sighed softly, feeling herself relax at last. As her eyes closed, she felt the current of the water around her, the trails of heat, and the tickle as it burbled around her skin. The wind began to howl outside, making her wonder what sort of blizzard was attempting to bury her and her new home.

Yet, she could still feel the fresh air coming in from the outside, just enough to vent the stale inside with the fresher outside, so she wasn't too worried. She realised with some horror that she hadn't refreshed her stash of soap and shampoo since she had had to do an emergency bath of one of the older dragonets that had gotten himself literally tarred and feathered by one of the more mischievous goblets. There had been some worry that the dragonet would be attacked when the other, older dragons thought he was food. She had planned to replace it, but it had slipped her mind.

Now what?

 **Pop. Thump. Pop!**

Soap and shampoo appeared by the springs.

 _Uhhhh…_

"Is someone here?" She waited. "Um, thanks for the soap."

 **Pop.**

"Hello?"

A fuzzy ball of fluff and whiskers peered out from behind the shampoo bottle. It was the pika.

Hermione held out her hand, and the little creature came up to her and placed its hands on her fingers. She looked again. No, they truly _were_ hands and not paws. "I've never seen anything like you before," Hermione confessed.

The little creature seemed to be concentrating hard. _Home?_ Its voice seemed very small in her mind. Unpracticed. _Want home._

Hermione frowned. "Did you lose your home?"

The pika drooped. _Need home. Die._ The little creature's whiskers twitched. _Make home you?_

"This isn't much of a home," Hermione replied. "I just got here myself."

 _Make home together,_ the small creature said. _Want home you._

Hermione's heart melted as its eyes stared into hers with such soulful longing that she couldn't bear to deny it. "If you really want to. Okay."

 _Mean it?_ It asked hopefully.

"I mean it," Hermione assured the little creature.

The magical pika radiated a warmth and magic as it rubbed against her hand. _Family!_ It squeaked, filling her heart with undeniable gratitude.

Hermione stepped out of the hot spring, and a towel moved to surround her head and her body, wrapping around her without her asking. She carried the pika gently in her hands and took out her wand, making a stone niche in the wall close to the steaming hearth. She lined the inside with soft bedding and made a little stairway, charming the nest to be self-cleaning. The pika zoomed into it, squeaking excitedly and moving the bedding around to its personal comfort. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the little creature's obvious happiness.

Hermione found a soft nightgown lying on her bed, frowning that she couldn't remember conjuring it, but just shrugged. She exchanged the towels for the gown and buried herself inside the warm blankets, pulling the fluffy duvet over the top as her head burrowed into the pillow.

* * *

Days or weeks later, and Hermione wasn't sure how long it had been, Hermione woke to the sound of an avalanche, or at least it sounded what she would have imagined an avalanche to sound like. She pulled her duvet down just a bit, peering out into the room. The inside of her house wasn't in ruins, and the walls weren't shaking.

 _Good sign,_ she thought. She still smelled the fresh air coming from the vent and yawned. That was also a good sign. She curled back under the duvet, mumbling, "Just a few more minutes, Mum."

Hermione's eyes drifted closed and her breathing slowly evened out again. A fluffy fur ball climbed up the side of the duvet and dove under the covers with her, but she didn't notice.

Thump.

Rumble. Rumble.

 _ **Thump!**_

A strange creaking and sliding sound was followed by the sound of something heavy crashing into solid rock.

A line of terrified pikas scurried in from the springs inlet squeezing through the tiny crack, desperate to flee from the outside world. They made a bee-line for Hermione's warm bed and burrowed under the covers with piteous squeaks of fright.

Hermione's arm reached out to blindly smash a non-existent alarm clock but bapped one of the poor pika instead. It squeaked in terror, running around in frantic circles only to fall off the bedside table and onto the floor.

Hermione's arm just dangled out of the top of her duvet cocoon, completely slack as she fell asleep again.

 **Rumble. Rumble. THUMP!**

"Grmmffphf… _What_ is going on out there?!" Hermione groaned, finally throwing back her duvet and sitting up. A dozen terrified pikas dove back under the covers, shivering.

Hermione blinked blearily. "How does anyone _sleep_ in Tibet? Does everyone sleep with a silence charm?"

She groaned, her cold feet seeking her slippers automatically.

 **Pop!**

Her pika-friend nosed the fuzzy slippers onto her feet and disappeared back into its warm nest with a soft pop.

She shuffled, zombie-like, towards the hearth and poured herself a cup of what she hoped was highly-concentrated campfire coffee— the breakfast of champions. She took a swig, had a muscle spasm, and sighed.

"Today's project is definitely going to be all about putting up some heavy-duty soundproofing wards. Who'd have thought I'd need them here?" She shoved her unruly curls out of her face and stared blearily into her coffee mug.

" _ **Puny, spineless, bastard son of Asgard!"**_ a rumbling voice bellowed.

 **Ker-ZAP! THUMP. Rumble. Rumble.**

"I'll have you know that my mother and father were indeed married before I was born," another voice boomed in response. "Your legitimacy, however, does seems to be rather in question."

 **Bzzzttt! THUMP!**

" _ **I am royalty!"**_ the other voice snarled.

"I don't see a crown!" **Bzzzttt!**

" _ **You are an entitled godling brat of Asgard!"**_

"Did remembering my address hurt you? You could commit suicide going from your ego level to your true IQ."

 **Blam! Rumble.** Snow was sliding somewhere, and ice was raining down from above.

"Ah, it would be wonderful to take you seriously, but I fear in order to do so, I would affront your intelligence."

 **Thummmmmm.** A rush of ice and snow crashed down nearby.

"I'm sorry, are you actually trying to smother me… in snow and ice?"

" _ **Thou art such a vile lump of deformity that even your own blood cast you aside as defective! I**_ **know** _ **the truth!"**_

"Who are you, really?"

" _ **This one is but mine servant! Do you not know your own impending death?"**_

"I'm not really feeling it, no," replied the other voice, oozing sarcasm.

" _ **You're out of clever illusions, Asgardian,"**_ the other voice snarled.

Hermione threw on her cloak and stormed out of her door, wanting in that moment just some peace and quiet. As she stepped out into the snow, a green and gold body slammed into the side of her home, a flaming sword protruding from his gut. The body did not move from where it had been cast, and Hermione took one look at the messy spill of long black hair over a pale face and was instantly reminded of someone else. Her hand clenched into a tight fist as her wand flew to her hand from places unknown. She stared up at the malformed creature that looked to be caught somewhere between man and something resembling a flame demon but did not flinch. "Get. Off. My. Garden."

" _ **Mortal insect,"**_ the flame-creature snarled. " _ **You stand between me and what is MINE!"**_

Hermione leveled her wand, her hair whipping around her head like sentient, writhing serpents. "You threw it on my house, you flaming egomaniac. That makes it _mine_."

" _ **You DARE?!"**_

"Obviously," Hermione replied with a derisive snort, narrowing her eyes at the offending interloper. "I placed my claim on this piece of abandoned rock before you decided to come traipsing through like a drunken mammoth with a severe sand flea infestation, so I would kindly request that you leave."

" _ **Arrogance,"**_ the creature replied in a low growl.

"Do not confuse my having found a spine as arrogance," Hermione replied grimly. "I do not _know_ you, so I will give you the opportunity to leave here in peace."

" _ **Please,"**_ the creature scoffed. " _ **Peace is only for the likes of your puny philosophers and other weak-minded fools."**_

"I assure you I do not have a retaining staff of philosophers or fools, puny or otherwise," Hermione said. "Look, whatever you are looking to find here, you're looking in the wrong place. Please leave."

The flame-creature held out a polished lens, peering through it and to her. " _ **You stole it."**_

Hermione frowned. "I have stolen nothing, least of all something of yours."

" _ **You don't DESERVE it!"**_ the creature roared, flinging itself toward her in a gallop— half run, half four-legged bound.

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ Hermione yelled, sending a spell slamming into the running creature. It hung in the air for a moment before slamming into the ground with a resounding, earth-shaking thump.

"I am so bloody _tired_ of bullies and entitled prats," Hermione said with clear disgust. "I am tired of monsters leading the blind to war. I'm tired of being blamed. I'm just— tired. I can't even get a full night's sleep without someone or some _thing_ crashing into my home. Just get out." She let the spell drop and she turned to walk away.

As Hermione continued to walk back towards her house, the creature labouriously pulled itself off the ground and growled. It rose up and bounded towards her—

 **SHINK!**

A flaming dagger protruded from Hermione's abdomen.

Hermione stared at it as the creature pulled it back out of her and seemed eager to plunge it deep into her again, but this time Hermione turned around and her eyes had gone from warm brown to a field of stars.

"I _tried_ polite," Hermione said gravely.

Black and red particles streamed out of her wound, swirling around the dagger blade and crumbling it to dust. Her hand touched the wound oddly, perhaps expecting it to hurt, her fingers going into the hole and exploring it. Her hand closed around the creature's neck, her eyes as black as the yawning abyss. Two glowing slits, blazing like the sun, narrowed as she touched him.

" _ **I will burn you to ash!"**_ the creature yelled, eyes glowing and a hint of horns ghosted over its face. Strings of power from a greater place connected this creature to something bigger— something hungrier, angrier, and even more arrogant. Flames swirled around Hermione, pouring over her as one would pour gravy over food. Her skin charred and blackened, smoking as it consumed her, freezing her in place.

" _ **Hmph, mortals,"**_ the creature chided, flames wreathing around its head. " _ **I will take what doesn't belong to you, and no beings born in and out of Asgard shall ever imprison me again."**_ He passed his hand over the ash and charred form as red and black particles surged up and over his arm with a crackling sound. " _ **Yes! Yes! Come to ME!"**_

A wheezing sound came from the ash-covered, charred woman.

"Still alive in there, mortal whelp?" the creature gloated. "I can make it all go away. He wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed until the ash fell away.

" _Did you think I came this far just to watch you kill her?"_ a low voice growled from the very air. " _Did you think I would not_ protect _her?"_ The cloud of black and red matter swirled angrily around the creature of flame and formed into a figure that cradled the woman and gently lay her down in the snow. The black and red cloud formed into a taller, masculine form, hints of cloth billowing behind. " _You would be_ wrong."

Lanky black hair draped around a pale face with eyes as black as pitch. A delicate vine wand lay against his fingers. " _Sectumsempra."_

Cracks formed all over the creature of flame.

" _Be careful what_ you _wish for Surtr,"_ the pale man said, placing the wand back in Hermione's hand as he brushed away the ash and char to expose a pristine face. " _Anchoring yourself to Mordo was amateur and foolish. You want me, Surtr? So many have wanted me. So many have craved that which came before. That was existed before them, wishing to bend it to every whim. Every carnal desire. Destroy this. Make that. Make me a world fit for my rule."_

" _ **I will have you!"**_ the creature raged, grasping around the "man's" body and squeezing. The body burst into particles and swarmed into the creature's every opening— mouth, pores, nostrils. The beast roared in triumph. He gestured with his hands, clacking rings on his fingers to form a portal in which to walk through.

" _ **Master, Surtr, I come!"**_ the creature bellowed in triumph.

But as the beast stepped forward, it suddenly froze, particles bursting from cracks in the creature's skin as its body began to shrink. The Aether shot through the portal, pulling on the magic from the other side and forcing it through.

" _ **NO!"**_ a bellow came from the other side. " _ **Impossible! IMPOSSIBLE!"**_

Power came streaming out of the portal and out of Surtr's thrall, and the Aether devoured it, as it devoured entire worlds— no regret, no restraint, no remorse. The thrall convulsed as its body, still connected to his master, was magically burned— all of the channels of magic cauterised as his master's essence burned him magically and physically. His body shrank, twisting, convulsing, and reforming. The magic poured out of the portal, linked in a downward spiral thanks to Surtr's desire for the Aether's power.

For a moment, the creature looked human— the dark skin and pained, human eyes staring out into nothingness. Thick brows creased of the eyes with a furrow as ghosts of a three-o'clock shadow made his face look almost scruffy. The sigil of Surtr blazed like fire between the eyes, the last evidence that human he may have been, but he was "owned" by Surtr, body and soul.

Then, the body seemed to collapse in on itself, as the last tendrils of flame and fire condensed within the body of a very terrified-looking marmot. The last wisps of flame faded away as the aether drank in the power and used it to feed Surtr-Mordo's final, humiliating transformation.

" _Enjoy your new life,"_ the pale man" said, his body shimmering, somehow both solid and ethereal. An eagle was diving down towards the only fat marmot around, its talons outstretched to seize its prey. The marmot gave a terrified squeal and ran across the snow-covered plateau, desperate for cover. " _However long it might last."_

He leaned down and picked up a piece of ornate metal with two loops for fingers in the crushed snow. His eyes narrowed as the portal that had allowed Surtr's magic to pour through it flickered, shrank, and collapsed. " _Amateurs."_ His fist crushed it, turning the object to dust as the magic within was devoured.

He knelt in the snow and picked up the woman, cradling her in his arms as he carried her back to their home. Tendrils of Aether moved around the fallen victim of Surtr's temper tantrum and carried it behind them. The body glided easily, but was floating the wrong direction, causing his head and knees to slam into the doorway. Snow fell from a ledge and covered the body. The tendrils of Aether paused a moment and then rearranged the man's body so it could pass through the door, pulled him in, and then closed the door behind them.

* * *

Hermione woke to the soft snores of cuddly pikas, all of which were sleeping soundly snuggled up to her face. She opened one eye blearily and realised she was cuddling an assortment of fluffy _Ochotonidae curzoniae magicalis_ under her arm and the rest were keeping her back warm. Big ones, round ones, some the size of a cantaloupe—they were _all_ snoozing with her. Some had spots. Some had the type of colouring that she would imagine was "normal" for a pika avoiding predators on a plateau, and some were stunningly extra-fluffy. Regardless, the first one that had met her was the most "average" in appearance, yet all of the others seemed to make mad detours away from normal. Long, winding detours, if she was to be perfectly frank.

"Mrrrff?" she managed to croak, peeking out of the slit in her duvet.

She poked her fingers out to test the air like a snake would use its tongue. Making a low groan she hunkered deeper in her cocoon of warmth. She realised that she really needed a nice cup of tea, though. Sighing in defeat, she pulled back her covers, grabbed for the nearby robe, and slipped both into it and her fuzzy slippers. She picked up the tea tins, sniffing each one to find the one she was looking for. Finally she settled for the Ceylon tea, deciding to scoop a few more leaves extra into the pot to make it stronger than usual.

Soft skittering sounds alerted her to the waking of the pikas, and they either disappeared with soft pops or dove into nooks and crannies in the walls. She had the vague feeling that somehow in adopting one homeless pika she had actually adopted an entire colony through a spokespika, and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. At least her bed would never be cold.

She decided to set some pieces of salt pork out on the griddle to cook with some seasoned potatoes, and when she couldn't find a tomato to save her soul— **pop!** A hamper loaded with them showed up on her counter.

Effective little buggers, Hermione thought admiringly to herself. Looking in the hamper, she found eggs and sausage as well as butter and bread, so she set to work fixing that too. "Might as well make a proper breakfast," she said to herself. "Mum would be utterly appalled by my diet lately."

Thinking on how Severus used to force her to sit down and force her to eat a proper breakfast, even if he had to force it down her throat, before taking on the day, she had to smile a little. He had taught her how to cook _well_ , and he hadn't exactly been a bad chef himself. Had Harry or Ron known that the real reason she and their dreaded Professor Snape didn't eat much in the Great Hall, they probably would have had convulsions on the spot, perhaps even going into cardiac arrest. Maybe even both.

A black and grey pika brought her a bundle of fresh mushrooms, and she habitually waved her wand over them to check if they were edible to humans. For all she knew, pikas could eat anything. Humans, however, not so much. The pika gave her a slightly disgruntled look, projecting his feelings that he would never allow his beloved mistress to die, and she scooped him up and rubbed noses with him, apologising. He licked her on the nose and then promptly dashed off.

A jar of beans arrived much like the mushrooms, looking like one of her pikas had found itself in a supermarket. She shook her head, thanked them, and busily fried everything up.

 **Pop!**

A carafe of ice-cold pumpkin juice arrived on the counter.

Starting to feel like the Hogwarts house-elves had nothing on pikas, Hermione busied herself making a few more comfy pika-dwellings around the house so they had places where they were welcome to burrow, nestle, and hoard their haystacks for the winter months. Whether the magical species were like the Muggle kind or not, she wasn't totally sure, but she didn't want to be the type to not offer such amenities just in case they did. Checking on her potatoes, she realised she had a bit more time, and she decided to make her pika-friends' lives a little less stressful by starting an indoor garden. She took the seeds from the vegetation they had already started hoarding, and did a little terraforming out of the elements— putting in transparent prisms to bring in light and warmth to the growing areas, mage-lights for the rest, and water channels to make sure the plants were suitably watered. With a few growing charms to get them rooted, a prayer of thanks for Professor Sprout's many lectures on plant propagation and terraforming small spaces, the inside of the house looked like a greenhouse worthy of her old Herbology professor. The pikas gathered to gaze in awe, chittering and squeaking as they looked around the house. Mission accomplished.

Hermione tilted her head. Did house-elves have stacks of hoarded objects like pikas did with food? Kreacher had seemed to, but she had dismissed that as missing his masters and hating that all he had was Sirius Black. What would Dobby have had? Piles and piles of socks? Winky would have had endless mugs of butterbeer, that's for sure, and no liver left at all. Despite the low level of alcohol, she was pretty sure Winky had gone through enough to both drown herself and kill off her liver a hundred times over. It was only a miracle or the will of some torturous god that was keeping her alive.

She moved all the food to the warming area and stared at it for a long while. "Why did I make so much food?"

A soft groan came from her couch, and Hermione's eyes widened as she realised she had a houseguest… the man who had been injured by the obnoxious flaming demon-creature she had encountered earlier.. She rubbed her temples, trying to remember exactly what had happened after she had turned her back on the bully and tried to walk away.

" _Never turn your back on an enemy, Miss Granger,"_ Snape had cautioned her often.

Yet, she had, as she so often did. She had exposed her back to the enemy she hadn't even realised she had, and he had driven the blade in deep, right up to the hilt. Strange that it didn't hurt anymore, she thought. She felt okay again. She felt— not numb— at peace.

Hoping that she didn't have a psycho-murderer on her couch, she rushed over ran a few scans. Well, even if he is, she thought to herself, he _was_ the one with a sword coming out of his abdomen…

Healing magic had never been a particular talent of hers. She had been far more apt with potions, charms, and transfiguration, but she did know a few thanks to Poppy pulling her aside after her countless stays in the Infirmary to give her a few pointers. It had often come in handy while on the run from Voldemort, and she had planned to come back and learn more from the mediwitch. It hadn't worked out, though. People tended to frown on Mudblood healers just like they frowned on uppity Mudbloods daring to think themselves heroes.

There was a collection of pikas gathered around her guest, some snuggled against his neck, and one perched on his sternum, rising and falling with his breaths. She was happy to see the wound didn't appear to be bleeding, and the dressing was clean and dry despite how it had seemed the other day. His leather and metal body armour— and she was positive it _was_ armour more than simply casual wear— lay in a clean and neat pile on the nearby chair, a black and white spotted pika laying on top of it, snoozing.

Hermione flushed, trying to refocus herself as she examined him. If Poppy Pomfrey could professionally examine naked injured bodies, surely she could figure this one out. It was only from the waist up, she thought. She took off the dressing, cleaned the wound, repacked the poultice, and put a new, clean dressing on top, binding it securely around his abdomen. Whoever he was, he was healing much faster than a Muggle or even a wizard. That was good, at least, she thought. I don't really want to go to Mungo's with him at this point. He seemed quite stable, and stable was vastly better than bleeding out in the middle of a virtually uninhabited area of Tibet— if that was where she really was.

She pulled the quilt over him, unable to stop staring at his long black hair, pale skin and lean, yet muscular frame. Yet, even as she did so, his skin took on a vivid cobalt blue colour as deep runes manifested across his exposed skin. Her fingers lightly touched his hand to tuck it back under the quilt, and his fingers locked tightly around hers like a steel trap.

She froze, unsure of what to do, but then he took in a deep breath and adjusted himself in sleep, snuggling into the quilt and releasing his grip on her hand. She stepped away and realised he was not human— not a wizard— and not anything she had ever heard of. Yet, as he made pained murmurs in his sleep, she filled the basin beside her, dipped a towel in, and soothed his head. As she did, the blue of his skin returned, ripping across his pale and more human-looking countenance.

She brushed a strand of his black hair from his blue skin, realising he was quite beautiful to look at, if one could truly call a man beautiful without him freaking out over it— or, if they were like Lockhart, becoming utterly obsessed with himself. As her fingers gently brushed against his cool skin, his face pressed into her palm, and his lips ghosted across the fleshy part of her thumb. He looked so content, just lying there, but she knew there was nothing there. If he was awake, he would surely not find her nearly as attractive. There were no more tender moments left for _her_.

She pulled away, ashamed that she would project such feelings on an injured guest in her keeping. There was no excuse for it, and she knew there was no such thing as tenderness and affection for one such as her.

" _You are far more than what you think,_ " Severus' voice broke her thoughts, and she looked up to him him standing there as in life, his robes hanging just so, his pale face and hooked nose, dark eyes, and soul-deep regret mirrored in every crease of his face.

Hermione, suddenly remembering her fall into space, rushed up to embrace the Aether-form of her once-master. He held her to him, letting her weep her emotions onto him as he stroked her hair.

" _I am not him, Hermione, but I am here for you whenever you need. We are one, you and I. You need not be alone anymore."_

Hermione looked up at him both sad and yet content. "It is okay that you look like him. I know you are not him, but you are like him in many ways. His memory lives in you."

Aether-Snape touched her cheek and brushed away the hair from her face. " _He lives on within us, my dragonet. We shall remember the truth long after this sun has gone cold."_ He pressed his lips to her forehead and broke into shimmering particles, reabsorbing into Hermione's body once more.

Hermione moved a plate of food and a mug of pumpkin juice over to where her guest was, putting a stasis charm over it so it would remain perfectly fresh for when he was able to partake of it. She rubbed her temples, idly wondering what she could be forgetting.

Her recent addition, friend, ally, conspirator— she had no idea what to call him, it— she trusted with her life. It was hard to explain how, but she knew he wouldn't lie to her. He wouldn't mislead her, but she would have to ask the right questions, otherwise they'd be in conversation for years just trying to answer all of the questions she would come up with to cover all possible angles.

Part of her wanted to do a little freaking out on how easily she was taking it all, but he— the Aether— was there within her like a warm hearth in the dead of winter. It filled the emptiness that had been growing inside her for years, the wounds that had never healed until then. She would never be truly alone, and that felt more comforting than she cared to admit. For now, she knew that the aether was doing its best to integrate itself slowly, allowing her to take things at her pace. It was willing to wait as long as she needed. They were already bound— but the full awareness would come along in due time.

The Aether had waited untold eons for her. It would give her as much time as she needed.

But, what _was_ the Aether? A singularity, it had said, but what exactly did that _mean_? She didn't know. For now, at least, she was quite ignorant of it. For once she didn't want to Apparate to a library and figure it out. That was new. Patience had finally come a courting.

Summoning her plate of food to her with her hand, she sat down at her writing desk. Worrying on the quill with her teeth a little, she dipped it into the ink and began to write.

* * *

 _Dear Minerva,_

 _Before you worry, I'm fine. I woke up in Tibet, but I'm fine! I swear to you, Minerva, I'm fine._

 _I'm not entirely sure what happened, but my last clear memory is of being thrown against a wall by Auror Dawlish. Then, I woke up here. I set up a shelter up on a plateau, which sort of became more of a home. It's smack in the middle of nowhere. No livestock, no humans as far as I have noticed, and you can hear a pika fart from across a room._

 _I've made friends with a few. They look a little different than the ones in the books._

 _[Sketch of handed-pikas]_

 _I'm not sure what the laws are here when it comes to magicals, so I'm hiding myself like people are still looking for me, keeping as low a profile as possible. Are they still searching all of Britain and beyond for me? I really hope they give up soon. I'm tired of them bothering you and the goblins every time a shoe falls and someone gets a tip that a bushy-haired witch was spotted in Diagon Alley._

 _Minerva, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could I get the name of a good basic book on magical healing from Madam Pomfrey? I had meant to catch up with her after the war, but as you know, things did not work out satisfactorily. No, I'm not injured. I swear, I'm fine. I just want to be prepared out here. There is very little of anything out here._

 _I really don't remember anything from after Dawlish attempted to force himself on me. I remember being on the wall, then I think he pulled, no threw, me down on the collection of artefacts. Beyond that, I know nothing other than something in those artefacts saved my life. Some_ thing chose _to save my life._

 _There is nothing else I can say other than its nature is different from what it once was. When it decided to help me , it changed. I won't say it isn't dangerous, but it's no longer waiting to rain destruction down on everyone. I can't help but think that is a very good thing._

 _Please give my regards to the other professors who aren't Trelawney. I sent a token to the goblins to let them know I was still alive, so they should know. Next time you go to Gringott's though, could you make sure old Garvsha knows? He probably does. I_ hope _he does, but my magic was a little wonky when I sent him my token. I'd really appreciate it if you could._

 _I hope— I really hope that my not being around anymore helps things settle down for you, Minerva. You and Viktor always believed in me, but I never wished to bring either of you grief because of me._

 _Your humble servant,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

Hermione sealed the parchment roll with wax and a seal and then beat her forehead with it. "I don't even have an owl."

Pop!

A red-orange pika wiggled his whiskers at her, extending his hands.

"Oh! You can— I had no idea!"

The pika gave her a long-suffering look, squeaked, and disappeared with a pop, scroll and all.

"Sorry!" Hermione apologised to the empty space the pika had left behind.

She wrote "Find book on Tibetan magical pikas" on her mental list of things she needed to look for on her next jaunt to a library or bookstore. She then underlined it about ten times just to be thorough.

"Well, now that that was sorted," she said, eating the last of her sausage from her plate and making the last slice of tomato disappear. "Now, maybe I can just sit down and relax."

She plucked a book off her shelf, flopped in a comfy chair, and began to read.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she moved the ribbon on _Magic in the Space-Time Continuum: Are We Alone?_ She placed the book down on the nearby table and got up, walking to her door.

How did anyone other than Minerva and the goblins know she was here?

She opened her door to find a man dressed in blue robes cut in a pseudo-Asian style. He had a series of belts wrapped around his waist and just as many wraps around his arms. Buckled boots hugged his calves up to his knees, and a crimson high-collared cloak hugged his neck. Yet, as she stood there staring at him, the collar of the cape seemed to reach out and wave hello to her as part of it extended as one would give a hand in introduction.

"Hello," she greeted the cloak, taking the tip of it in her hand and bowing her head slightly while the rest of her brain was questioning her sanity for greeting someone's cloak over them.

The figure sighed, jerked his cloak back. "Stop it," he admonished. "I at least— Just let me—"

The cloak covered his head and yanked him back from the door.

"Arrhghhhaaa! I'm— Dr—" the man said, flinging out his arms, and the cloak fell about his shoulders like a normal garment. "Strange."

Hermione arched a brow. "You are at that."

The cloak was wiping his face and adjusting his hair a little to make him have less of a cow-lick on one side.

"Staaahp!" the strange man commanded.

 _Yes,_ Hermione thought, _he is definitely strange._

The two stared at each other.

"I am Dr Stephen Strange," the flustered man said. "May I come in?"

Hermione looked him over carefully. "Would you actually go away if I said no?"

The collar of the cloak smacked Strange upside the head. "Um, probably not."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Fine, come in. Just please don't break anything." She turned and walked into the house, and Strange's cloak floated in after her without bothering to wait for Stephen.

Strange sighed. "Wonderful. My Cloak of Levitation has a crush on someone."

* * *

"Wherever did you get the charming cloak?" Hermione asked as it poured the tea for her and handed her the cup.

"Would you believe it chose me?" Strange said, frowning slightly as Hermione handed him a cup of tea since his cloak was ignoring him.

"I guess wands are not the only things to chose their people," Hermione said touching the cloak with a pat. "Mind you, my wand never tried to serve me tea."

My cloak never served _me_ tea," Strange said with a mildly disgruntled sigh.

"Oh," Hermione said. "Well, thank you," she told the cloak, and it rubbed its edges like a person crossing their legs and going "Aww, shucks."

"You're taking being confronted by a sentient cloak quite well," he said after a long, evaluating look.

"I thought I had lost my ability to be surprised about things when an insane, megalomaniacal snake-man tried to take over Britain," Hermione said, sipping her tea. "Whatever capacity might've had left I lost entirely after my best friends turned on me and decided to paint me as the reason everything went pear-shaped to begin with."

Strange arched a brow, running his fingers through a streak of grey in his hair. "Anything like encountering a power-hungry extra-dimensional energy being born of pure Magic of the Faltine Dimension?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said without flinching. "With somewhat less magic and a bit more bigotry and bloodshed."

"Sometimes bloodshed and bigotry comes hand-in-hand," Strange said grimly.

Hermione set down her teacup. "Manipulation of fear to gain power from the masses. At first there was a clear evil, but somewhere along the line it became less clear and more blind."

"For someone so young, you speak as one who has lived through war many times over," Strange observed, running his hands thoughtfully over his beard.

"I have seen far more than I wish to remember," Hermione confessed, her hands stroking the comforting levitation cloak without realising it. "Yet, to forget it all would surely mean repeating it."

"Did you realise you have a god sleeping on your settee?"

"I've had worse sharing a tent with me." Hermione arched her fingers together. "With much less peace and many more ugly accusations. Though, he has yet to wake. I am fairly sure that the chances of him remaining so quiet and polite will be much lower once that ends."

"How do you take such things in stride so easily?"

Hermione just shrugged. "I woke yesterday to a creature who was something more than a man but clearly less than his master shoving flaming weapons into someone on my front garden. He attempted to drink in my magic after— stabbing me in the gut. That was my very first morning after finally feeling like I'd settled in— if you call that settled. While I am not sure what to expect when my guest awakens, I would at least hope he is at least polite enough to refrain from sticking a knife in me."

"And if he _does_ stick a knife in you?"

Hermione snorted. "Then I do to him what I did to the flaming man and his master."

Strange leaned in curiously. "And what was that?"

"I do not… remember exactly." Hermione shrugged. "It probably did not end well for them, as I woke up this morning from a sound sleep in a comfortable bed rather than in a hospital bed or in the afterlife."

"Yet you were stabbed?"

"I believe so."

Dr Strange fidgeted somewhat, seemingly unsure about how to proceed. "You have healing magic?"

"Some," Hermione admitted. She frowned. "I _do_ seem to be a bit harder to kill than I recall."

"Most people aren't so calm after being stabbed, I will admit," Dr Strange replied.

"Experience with that, have you?" Hermione asked.

"Only if they were stabbed in the head."

Hermione stared at him. "What are you a doctor of, Dr Strange?"

"Neurosurgery," he said, drumming his fingertips together.

Hermione tilted her head. "What brings a neurosurgeon to my door out in the middle of nowhere, doctor?"

"What brought _you_ to the middle of nowhere?"

"I woke up here, and I think it's your turn to give information."

The levitation cloak seemed to cross its "arms" and glower at Dr Strange.

"Whose side are you on anyway?" Strange accused.

"No one's," Hermione replied.

"Not you— _**it!**_ " he said, frowning and pointing at the offending cloak.

Strangle mumbled and crossed his arms. "I'm here to find Mordo," he said. "He _was_ a friend, but—I think he's been attacking sorcerers around the world and stealing their magic."

"And you think he's here?"

"I had, but," Strange rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're still here."

The cloak smacked Strange.

"Hey! It was logical! She's not a sorcerer!"

"I think you may need to seek therapy," Hermione said. "Couples therapy, perhaps."

Strange sighed. "Look, if I showed you one of these, what would you think?" He held out a piece of ornate metal with two loops for fingers.

"I'd say you are missing two rings to make a set of brass knuckles, Doctor," Hermione said.

"And if I said with that you could transport yourself anywhere in the world?"

"I'd say you must've failed your Apparation certification," Hermione answered with an arched brow.

Strange boggled at her, jaw working silently as his eyes refocused. "If I said that cloak could let you fly?"

"I'd say I prefer to have my feet on the ground."

The cloak slumped, its end brushing against Hermione's hand as if to beg her to change her mind.

"I supposed I'd let you try and convince me otherwise at least once," Hermione mumbled, and the cloak embraced her, wrapping around her in a hug before happily hovering next to her again. She tilted her head, listening carefully. "I don't think he'd like it much if I charmed his cloak away."

"I'm sorry?"

" Sorry," Hermione laughed. "Your cloak is very convincing."

"You… can understand it?"

"It's very loud," Hermione commented, and the cloak slumped. "Sorry, _clear_. It's very clear. Silly thing. Tell you what. Teach me how to make another of you, so Mr Strange doesn't leave here all alone."

"Doctor."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Hnn. You're not helping me to want to help you. Doctor. Strange." She clipped off each word with a curl of her lips. She stood up and the cloak followed her, settling about her shoulders with a soft thump.

Dr Strange's eyes widened as he realised Hermione's eyes had darkened from a warm brown to the endless depths of space— the blackest of black lit only with the glitter of stars. Dark particles moved off her skin and down her fingers, swirling in front of her. Her eyes were open, but they seemed to look beyond everything.

She extended her fingers and glistening strands of magic cast off of them, forming a strong, silken web. Plump, fluffy celestial spiders formed on the web and promptly made themselves busy. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, busily worked over the web, thickening it until it formed into shimmering silk fabric. Her wand moved through the air, and scissors clipped, needles threaded multiple strands of spider silk, and a measuring tape glided to Dr Strange, measured him from top to bottom, and glided away. Hermione hummed, the particles of red and black swirling around her.

Stephen gasped.

A figure— pale skin, dark eyes, and even darker hair gently guided her movements, his face pressed against her as he whispered to her. Hermione moved to his guidance with the kind of absolute faith that Stephen had sorely lacked when he first began training with the Ancient One. While he had questioned everything, Hermione was not fighting anything, least of all what was helping her. The figure splayed her fingers just so, and she began to levitate in the air, the Cloak whipping around her like a flag.

Fibre by fibre, strand by strand, the cloak took shape as an ethereal tapestry, and he could see the surge of magic moving down every silken strand. Countless magical spells moved across the fibres as though she were pouring liquid on the fabric. It danced around her as she cut, extended, and whispered magic into every nook and cranny.

Hermione's eyes opened, and she cupped her hands to her face, and she sang. She sang a note that caused his heart to flip flop and his mind to resonate. He felt drawn to it as a moth to the flame. She blew out of her hands and stars seemed to hang in the air and then take their individual places on the fabric. She extended her hand to him. "One drop of blood, freely given, Stephen Vincent Strange."

Dr Strange gasped. " _How—_ "

Her fathomless eyes stared at him, waiting.

He held out his hand. "Freely given," he said.

She pressed her wand tip to his finger, and a scarlet drop of his blood gathered in a perfect circle. It floated off his finger and touched the fabric. The crimson colour spread across the cloak, dyeing it a rich red completely from top to bottom. Hermione reached out her hands, and the black and red particles formed a golden clasp shaped like interlocking dragons. She opened her hand to release them, and they drifted to the cloak, taking their place on the finished product of magic.

Hermione's black eyes stared into him as the cloak drifted over to him and settled on his shoulders without hesitation, the tips of the collar wiping the tears of astonished wonder from his face. Hermione's eyes turned back into a warm brown as the cloud of red and black particles withdrew, and she wobbled, staggering. She fell backwards, still partially suspended due to the Cloak of Levitation, and suddenly—

Loki was there like a flash of quicksilver, gently cradling Hermione to his body as he stared balefully at Strange. "Do appreciate what has been made for you this day, Dr Strange. You will most likely never see its like again."

Loki gazed down at the sleeping face of Hermione. "You will never see the like of _her…_ anywhere in this Realm or beyond."

* * *

"What are you doing here, Loki?" Strange said, giving the Asgardian an evaluating look.

Loki stared down at the woman wrapped up like a pupae in a cocoon of the Cloak of Levitation. "To find the Aether— something once hidden by Bör. It escaped in the body of Jane Foster, my brother's mortal weakness, and it both protected her and drained her to her almost to the point of death. Before this could happen, however, Malekith coaxed it out to bond with him, though my brother did his level best to destroy the Aether— it cannot _be_ destroyed. It and Malekith became one, and he attempted to unmake all of the nine Realms. Now, as much as I would like to see people writhe in the horrors of their own making, I am quite partial to the Realms."

"So you can rule them," Strange said.

Loki tsked. "Humans and other races like to follow. They _like_ being told what is good and what is bad. They _like_ doing what they have been doing for years. They don't want to know better ways because they fear the change. And you, Doctor? You cling to your name and title like it truly matters. Do you think that being called "Doctor" makes your magic any more potent? Do you think it matters to her? To anyone of your peers that sling magic around?"

"I _earned_ my title," Strange said with a scowl.

"And your neurosurgery means so very much to archdemons and alien interlopers, does it?" Loki suddenly looked more weary than antagonistic. "Tell me, before you have your magical epiphany, all you wanted was to fix your hands and go back to how things were. You, soaking up all the fame of being someone who fixes brains. Obvious. Yet, if you were take one of your high profile cases and throw them under an Asgardian healer, they would make a few passes with their version of everyday technology, and make all of your fine work seem childish and prehistoric. So, you did not truly wish to help people as much as you wished to look great doing it."

"I became a doctor to help people."

"But, that wasn't really what you were doing, were you? Making all that money. Feeding that all-important ego— shunning your lover by burying yourself in your arrogance. You weren't teaching others to help other people, no. You were basking in how _great_ you were. You didn't take normal cases. You didn't help patients lacking wealth and fame. You took only the very cream of the crop, so when you lost the one thing that you could do, the only ones left were the ones you had ostracised, stepped on, snubbed, ridiculed, and looked down on. I'm sure they _all_ came rushing to help you when you destroyed your hands, hrm?"

"And you made so many more when you decided to let frost giants invade Asgard? To play the hero?" Strange accused angrily.

"Did your homework, did you?" Loki snarled. "You know _nothing_ about me."

"And you know nothing about _me_!"

Loki's mouth turned up in a cruel smile. "Unlike me, your history is quite literally written everywhere. Oh sure, Loki tried to take the throne of Asgard, that's what people talk about now, but where were they when I had to transform into a mare and lure off a giant's super horse Svaðilfari so they didn't have to pay the agreed sun, moon, and oh— the goddess Freyja—for building a wall worthy of the gods. No? Never heard about that? That's the thing about gods. People like to glorify what they want and villainize the rest. Sure, All-Father is the great one who sacrificed his eye so he could spew poetry on mankind and learn the runic alphabet, but he is also the god of battle and death, sorcery, frenzy, royalty, and knowledge. The list goes on. His sins and glory has spanned human lifetimes, while yours have only spanned a few years. It's much easier to brush up on a few decades."

Loki sneered at Strange, and they glared at each other as they both thought insults at the other man in front of them.

"Could you tone it down a notch?" Hermione groaned. She clutched her head. "Your thoughts are very sharp."

Suddenly, Strange became quite serious, and he nudged Loki out of the way, pulling out a pen light. He flicked it across her eyes, having her follow the light, checked her pupils, and even checked her ears, nose, and throat. He ran his fingers over her head, checking for lesions and bumps and then sighed with relief. "No concussion. Good."

Hermione yawned and winced at the light in the room. "Thanks for, um, checking," she said, chuckling.

"I was worried," Strange admitted. "You said our thoughts were sharp. That is not a normal descriptor for thoughts."

"There really wasn't another word to use, trust me on that," Hermione yawned through her reply. "It was like every thought you had was about wanting to kill each other."

Loki and Strange exchanged glances, flushed, and turned away from each other.

"Trust me, I've had quite enough of that, what with it being around me ever since I turned eleven," Hermione said, rubbing her head. The Cloak of Levitation brought her a hot cup of tea, stirred it for her, and held it out.

"Bless you, my friend," Hermione said, accepting the proffered tea without question.

Strange's jaw dropped in astonishment. His cloak tugged on him, perhaps to remind him that he still _had_ a cloak, and if he kept it up, it was going to start getting jealous. Strange promptly snapped out of it and stammered, "I— I'm sorry. I am far newer to mysticism than I was but a year ago. Before that, I was a surgeon— a doctor. I am still coming to terms with the things I have seen, done," he said, trailing off.

Hermione tutted as one of the celestial spiders crawled out from under a nearby pillow and waved its legs at her. She extended her hand, and it gratefully crawled up her arm and disappeared into her hair. "Don't let Lavender know I have spiders in my hair," Hermione said with a smile. "I'll never hear the end of it."

" _Wait!"_

" _Wait for us!"_

" _No fair!"_

A row of celestial spiders waved their legs on the edge of the pillow, having just caught up to the first.

Hermione snorted, lowering her hand, and they crowded on it. She lifted her hand to her shoulder, and they all disappeared into her hair. "Celestial Weavers," Hermione said with a wink. "Who knew?"

"Have you ever made anything like that before?

"Technically, the spiders did the making," Hermione replied. She tilted her head as if listening to something. "And— they have apparently adopted me."

She seemed to boggle at her growing amount of life companions, but shrugged.

"See?" Strange said. "You did it again."

"Hrm?" Hermione asked.

"You just… simply accept what is."

"Hah," Hermione said. "Perhaps I am making up for my childhood where I questioned everything, and you can see how well that worked for me through life."

"Seems to be working for you now," Strange observed.

"Life's lessons learned, tempered by no shortness of malice from those around me." Her face became grim, harder. "I am used to betrayal. I am used to being lied to, Dr Strange. I am used to being hated because of my blood and what it isn't, where no amount of work and deed could prove me better. No matter how much I studied. How much I worked. How much I sacrificed. I was always… never good enough."

"So, yes," she continued. "I think I can accept being adopted by a rampaging horde of spiders or small fluffy magical pikas because I couldn't accept that house-elves would truly _want_ to serve people. I thought it was slavery. I thought it— cruel. I have grown since then, realising that some things are a calling that brings order to chaos and peace to strife. So, what's a few celestial weaving spiders?"

"So, to answer your questioning look, Dr Strange, I must confess that I have no real idea," Hermione said. "I simply feel at peace now with a great many more things than I have before."

"Stephen," Strange said after a moment. "Please, if you would."

"Stephen," Hermione repeated. "So much better than titles, hrm? I am Hermione. Granger to the majority of the world. Dragonheart by the goblin nation. I would prefer Hermione, since I doubt even you could wrap your tongue around my goblin name without at least seven shots of Ogden's firewhisky to numb your vocal cords. No offense meant, Doctor… Stephen."

"Who's the love of your life?" Hermione asked.

"Wh—wha?" Strange gasped, startled by the personal question.

"The watch," Hermione said, nodding. "You caress it when you're insecure. Like the gentle touch of comfort of one to another. Forgive me, I do not wish to make myself a pest."

Stephen shook his head. "Doctor Palmer. Christine. We— we are not together anymore, but— the watch reminds me to be more grateful for what I have rather than heedlessly pursuing what I believe I want."

"A very wise woman," Hermione said.

Strange fidgeted, perhaps realising he had said more than he had intended and had no idea why.

"Hermione, how did you make— don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate what you did— but _how_ did you make the cloak?"

Hermione tilted her head. "I asked it how it was made. It showed me."

"We make tea too," one of the spiders said. "One lump or two?"

"Two," Strange said and then froze in place.

The celestial spider dropped two lumps of sugar into the teacup and used its legs to stir the spoon. "Job's done. Enjoy!" The spider scurried off do whatever celestial spiders did when they weren't serving drinks.

Strange sipped his tea, deciding that being quiet and drinking his offered drink was better than whatever alternative his conventional brain might come up with.

" _You like tea?_ " a line of spiders asked Loki.

" _Biscuits?"_

" _Tea and biscuits?"_

" _Maybe he likes bacon butties?."_

" _Fish and chips?"_

" _Strawberry trifle?"_

" _Egg souffle?"_

" _With asparagus?"_

" _Ooo, what about spinach?"_

" _Both?"_

" _Crab curry?"_

" _He's looking at us funny, maybe he likes fried sweetbreads."_

" _One of those?"_

" _Could be, I mean, he's staring at us."_

" _We stare at_ you _all the time."_

" _That's different. We have multiple eyes. We're built to stare."_

" _True."_

" _Hrm…"_

"I'm actually good with the small platter she left me here," Loki said awkwardly, pointing at it with his fork.

" _You sure?"_

" _Okay, if you say so—"_

" _He needs more sausage on his plate!"_

" _You'll ask if you need anything?"_

A group of pikas chittered at the clutter of helpful celestial spiders and drove them off the back of the couch.

" _Eee!"_

" _We were just helping!"_

" _Ahh! Stop nipping my arse!"_

" _No, not the spinnerets!"_

An orange and white pika chittered and gnashed its teeth, refilled Loki's juice glass, gave him a new napkin, and disappeared.

Hermione chuckled, pinching the bridge of her nose. She stood, shuffling over to her kitchen area. "Well, seeing as I have guests, I should probably start dinner."

"It's not even noon yet," Strange commented.

"Really good food takes time," Hermione said with a chuckle. She waved her wand and various kitchen utensils came to her call, swirling in the air, but they did not make the food for her. Instead, she plucked what she needed out of the air— knives, cutting board, bowls, and more.

The pikas appeared, bringing her everything from soup bones to assorted vegetables. She set the bones on a platter and stuffed it into the stone hearth, allowing them to brown as she chopped the vegetables. She browned various seasonings in a small skillet and tossed it in a stockpot with the vegetables. She took the bones off the platter and threw them into the pot as well. She sniffed the pot, pondering, then picked up various small jars of spices, sniffing them, then throwing a pinch in here and there, stirring, and repeating until she was satisfied. She hummed to herself, and red and black particles swirled around her. A tall figure formed behind her, and she smiled, leaning into "him" with a content smile on her face.

His pale fingers wrapped around her hand, releasing her hold on the wand she carried, letting it fall to the counter. Her fingers splayed, and the kitchen promptly set about cleaning itself as the pot of soup positioned glided over the hearth to simmer. She looked up at him, smiling broadly, and he gazed at her fondly, pressing his lips to her forehead before disappearing in a swirl of particles.

She chopped up a large pile of greens, adding sprouts and mixing in something that looked like flowers, and with a wave of her hand all of it filled a long trough that ran along the counter. Pika after pika popped in, chittering excitedly as they took to the greens with joyous abandon. Hermione smiled at them, nudging a tiny one to his own little piece of leafy green paradise. He squeaked adoringly, shoving his face into the trough so deep that his head disappeared.

"Hey now, little one," Hermione laughed. "It's not your last meal, I promise."

The little pika didn't seem to hear her as he was far too intent shoving food into his mouth with his tiny hands.

"Silly thing," she said fondly, scritching the little pika on the rump since it was the only part of him sticking out from the mass of vegetation.

A larger pika with red and orange spots grabbed the little one by the neck and dragged him out of the pile and back to the nest, and the smaller pika looked forlornly at the trough full of food, even as his mouth was full of flowers and shoots.

In an amazingly short time, the trough was clean and a line of magical pikas took turns rubbing against Hermione's hand before disappearing with a pop!

"Wherever did they cram all that food?" Hermione boggled, grinning from ear-to-ear. "And I thought Ronald was scarily efficient in packing away food like it was his last meal on Earth."

"Who is this 'Ronald'?" Strange asked, passing her a cup of tea. "Hope you don't mind, I made you some tea while you were busy cooking."

Hermione accepted it gratefully. "Thank you," she said, sipping the tea and sighing happily. "I grew up with him. Once, he and I were what kept my friend Harry from running headlong into danger, face-first. Though, I think sometimes we were all guilty of being short-sighted children. Ronald was known by his siblings as 'Ickle Ronnikins', for wolfing down everything near him at the dinner table, for his love for and inability to talk about anything but Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons, and an extreme fear of anything with eight legs."

Hermione tilted her head. "And being a complete obnoxious prat."

"Sounds like someone _**I**_ know," Loki said darkly as he brought his breakfast platter to the kitchen, looking a little baffled as to what to do with it.

Hermione took it from him, automatically dipping it into the basin of soapy water, washed and rinsed it, and set it on the drying rack. As she turned around, a pika appeared, grabbed the platter, and vanished with it. Hermione stared at the wand she had dropped on the counter. She looked at it with a puzzled expression and then tucked it away inside her robes in a habitual motion.

"Well, I suppose I should make you both rooms, unless you wish to share couches," Hermione said after some pondering. "Stephen, you have that look about you that says you aren't leaving until you feel I can defend myself, and Loki— I would prefer it if you didn't leave until I'm fairly certain that your guts aren't going to spill out all over my floor. After that, you are, by all means, free to leave. I'm sure this place pretty boring for one such as you."

"One such as _me_?" Loki asked, curious.

"Normal folk do not arrive on my doorstep impaled with flaming weapons. Even wizards and witches tend to shun the use of such barbaric tools to kill each other. Most, anyway," she said, one hand idly scratching her arm. "Some will use any tool at their disposal to make it as cruel and as unusual as possible."

"Flaming weapons?" Strange said, perking with interest. "Do you still have it?"

Hermione gave the sorcerer a look that seemed caught somewhere between curiosity and tolerance. "It is in the fireplace, providing perpetual fire." She gestured to the hearth.

Strange tried not to run, but he was eager to get to the fireplace to examine the weapon.

"You pulled a flaming sword out of me?" Loki asked quietly, touching his abdomen with a wince.

"You would have preferred me leave it in?" Hermione asked.

Loki looked like he was going to say something, stopped, and gaped a little. "No, I think I'd have much preferred it out of me. I thank you for your kindness."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed a moment, but then she just shrugged. "You are most welcome. Care to tell me why you happened to end up here getting yourself impaled versus some other random plateau in the world?"

"I was following the lure of great power," Loki admitted quietly. "That which carved a tremendous swath of destruction across many realms— harnessed only fleetingly— and killing those it used to leave the prisons that had been set aside for it."

"And you thought it was here," Hermione asked, "in the very seat of Buddhist Shamanism?"

Loki gave her a gallant shrug. "I simply followed the trail."

"And what would you have done with this great power?" Hermione asked. "Had you found it?"

"Saved the mindless mortal sheep from the dangers of their own blind incompetence," Loki said darkly. "Mortals _need_ direction."

"And you would be the appropriate person for such a task?"

"I," Loki replied in a steely tone, "am a _god_."

"Oh, I'm sure that makes it all right and proper then," Hermione said dryly. "Taking away free will is the dream of every would-be dictator. Every psychopathic megalomaniac that wants to take over a world and make it better in some way."

"I am no mere weak-minded human with ridiculous delusions of grandeur," Loki snarled. "I was born to be a king, unlike you."

Hermione pulled back, a sudden coldness in her eyes. "That's right. I was born to be _nothing_. Never good enough. Never skilled enough. Never magical enough. My blood was not pure enough. Hair was not controlled enough. Teeth were not short enough. My skin wasn't thick enough. Too naive to even suspect that my best friends would one day turn their backs on me. Too compassionate to let some red-eyed blue-skinned man die on my very doorstep. I. Am. So. Sorry."

Hermione stood up perfectly straight, the cloak standing stiffly at attention even as part of it seemed to be gently rubbing the back of her neck in comfort. "You may remain here until your wound is healed, Loki, then I expect you to leave this place and never return."

She turned on her heels.

 **Crack.**

She was gone.

Doctor Strange stared at the empty space Hermione had just been a second ago and then at Loki. "You know, Loki, people would be far more endeared to you if you didn't end every conversation by telling them how you deserve to rule over them all."

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, you'd be a lot more endearing if you shut that overly pretentious mouth of yours."

"Pot meet kettle," Strange snorted.

* * *

Hermione really wasn't quite sure what she expected to find on her return "home," but somehow finding an odd spell-casting ex-neurosurgeon making nice with a man who had wanted to shove entitlement down her throat like it was his job hadn't quite made it on the list. As she looked around, she realised she had gained three fully-furnished guest rooms, two for her unexpected "guests" and one that was presumably a spare. The house was beautifully decorated for Christmas, which she had completely forgotten about what with all the drama that had taken priority over the festive cheer of the holiday season. Celestial spiders wove shimmering garlands for the tree, which had been seemingly grown directly out of her floor. The pikas were placing a blazing star at the top of the tree, and the spiders were anchoring it with countless strands of spider silk as she walked in, and the spiders waved their legs at her in greeting before going back to industriously weaving lush garlands.

" _This way!"_

" _This way!"_

" _Pull it tight!"_

" _Perfect!"_

The spiders were pulling together pine boughs to make a wreath, complete with silk ribbons and jingle bells.

" _Your snowflake is lopsided."_

"You're _lopsided!"_

" _Well, yes, but so is_ your _snowflake!"_

" _Psh,"_ one spider replied, tugging on the snowflake to bring it back to symmetry. " _Fixed."_

The other spider tugged on the lopsided spider, and it popped back into position. " _Now, you're not lop-sided anymore."_

" _Yay!"_

The spiders heaved up the wreath while the pikas squeaked commentary that sounded suspiciously like, " _Little to the left, too far, go back right a little!"_

"I'd completely forgotten it was Christmas," Hermione said wonderingly as she walked through the door.

" _She's back!"_ cheered the clutter of busy spiders.

" _Yay!"_

The pikas and spiders lined up on the rim of the couch and looked up at her expectantly.

" _Does she like it?"_

" _I dunno, she hasn't said anything yet."_

" _She's just standing there."_

" _Uh oh, what does_ that _mean?"_

" _Does she hate it?"_

" _What if she hates it?"_

The spiders fidgeted, clearly nervous, and the pikas chirred, whiskers twitching worriedly.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said.

" _You like it?"_ the spiders asked.

"I _**love**_ it, thank you all so much for your hard work!"

" _Yay!"_

" _YAY!"_

The spiders held up their legs and waved them joyfully.

Hermione closed the door behind her, and her cloak shuddered to rid itself of the coating of snow that had settled on top of it. Hermione tugged the cloak off, and it was floating in front her, seemingly reluctant to leave her. "Go get yourself warm and dry off, my friend." She gave the cloak an affectionate pat as it glided off to dry by the fire.

Both cloaks bumped into each other at the hearth and seemed to look each other over, poking each other, mirroring movements, and then finally hovering together in the heat of the hearth.

Hermione glided into the kitchen and boggled as far more food than was there when she left was sitting in warming platters by the hearth.

"I hope," Loki's voice said from the guest room doorway. He toweled off his long black hair and tossed the towel back into the room. "I hope it all meets your expectations for dinner," he said softly. "We were unsure about what you would like, so your familiars did a bit of fetching for us."

"We both had to apologise and swear to them that we had never meant to hurt you," Stephen said as he entered with a towel around his head. "Or intend you harm." He gave a tired sigh. "I will confess that the pikas had to teach me how to cook. It was a very humbling experience."

Hermione opened the lid that was nearby and sniffed. "Well, it smells absolutely delicious."

Stephen gestured to Loki. "I was not alone in preparing all of this."

Loki gave the sorcerer a strange look.

Strange shook his head. "You spend so much time trying to prove you are better than everyone else, my friend, but when someone _does_ give you credit for work to which you contributed, you look at them as though they are trying to get you to gargle broken glass."

Loki grimaced but straightened his shoulders. He pulled out a planter containing a bright yellow orchid with even brighter orange inner sepals and a glowing, vibrant stigmate.

"An _Oris Venusta_!" Hermione cried excitedly. "Wherever did you get it?"

"I, uh—" Loki flushed and stared down at his feet, looking very much the emperor penguin.

"Did you know that this is the rarest carnivorous orchid in the world? Its sap knits together any wound which is great because it has over a hundred teeth that it likes to sink into its prey!"

"I'm so sorry!" Loki blurted out, looking horrified.

"What? For giving me a carnivorous flower? It's _beautiful!_ " Hermione cooed, scratching it under the chin, and the flower purred at her, leaning its flower against her chest. "Neville would be _so_ jealous."

" _ **Yes!**_ I mean _**no!**_ I mean… Wotan-cursed Poetic Edda—" Loki stammered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a grit."

"Git?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow rising in curiousity.

"I am not used to being taken seriously," Loki admitted. "I am not used to genuine kindness. I am used to having to scrape and claw my way into being noticed, and I am profoundly sorry for my appalling behaviour."

Hermione just stared at him, struck speechless.

"I am well and truly sorry," Loki said, looking flustered.

"Hn," Hermione said. She turned on her heels and walked away to put the orchid with the other plants. She cast a pika-barrier around it to keep her new friends from suffering the humiliation of predation in their own home. "You are forgiven," she said after a while, plucking a piece of meat out of a the stewpot, blowing on it, chewing it a little, and then offering it up to the orchid. The orchid scarfed up the food, purring and rustling in obvious pleasure. "That's a good orchid. You're marvelously well behaved. Not at _all_ like that horrible one at Abernathy's Apothecary."

The orchid purred and rubbed against her, rustling its foliage.

"Need water?"

The flower nodded.

She aimed her wand at the soil and whispered, " _Aguamenti."_ The flower shivered slightly and yawned, going dormant.

Loki stared at her with no small amount of wonder.

"Well, I guess I should set the table," Hermione said with a chuckle, realising it was the one task that hadn't been given any love.

" _Rut-roh!"_ the spiders cried, wringing their legs.

The pikas chittered excitedly as the spiders spun silk napkins, then darted about placing the food and wine on the table with the appropriate cutlery, teapots, dinner and glassware, along with a carefully filled gravy boat.

Hermione laughed. "You little guys are so sweet," she said with a warm smile. She waved her wand to harvest the inside plants, guiding the cuttings into the counter trough that fed her pika friends. "At least allow me to feed you properly, hrm?"

The smaller pika that had to be dragged away from his meal by his parent earlier had already dived into the trough, his wriggling tail the only indicator he was even there. The other pikas shook their heads, cradling their faces with their tiny hands.

 _Sorry,_ one pika said, looking up to Hermione. _He was born hungry._

Hermione gave the pika a lift up to the counter. "It's fine," she assured him. "There is plenty to go around."

The three of them gathered around the dining table, passing around the serving dishes and taking what they desired from each.

"What on earth is _this_?" Hermione asked, eyeing what looked suspiciously like a tentacle and appeared to be covered with some sort of glaze and sprinkled with something that resembled sesame seeds.

"Not from here, no," Loki said. "In Asgard it is a much-prized delicacy. If I may?"

Hermione eyed Loki and the tentacle somewhat suspiciously. "Please do."

He demonstrated how to shave the suckers off the tentacle and cut the rest into thin slices, placing them neatly on her plate.

Hermione tapped her fork nervously against her plate for a few seconds before deciding to bite the bullet and try it. She tentatively put a piece in her mouth and chewed. "Wow, it tastes a bit like spicy glazed prawns." She grinned at Loki with genuine amazement.

"Ye of little faith," Loki said, smiling back at her. "I'm not quite sure how your familiars managed it, but they seem to be able to bring back just about anything. Though, I do have to wonder if a cook somewhere in Asgard is missing their dinner Cthullaephae."

Hermione looked rather horrified at that.

"Actually, knowing these industrious little fellows even for a short time," Strange commented, "I'm thinking they stole it right out from under the living beast itself."

"Talented little buggers," Hermione said with a grin.

They passed around the salad, roasted potatoes, and steamed asparagus.

"Goodness, is this _filet_?" Hermione beamed with pleasure. "Whoever made the hollandaise sauce gets a hug, and so does the one that made the dessert, if the glorious sight and smell of it is any indication."

The sorcerer and the god exchanged glances. "Can we split the difference?" Stephen asked, smiling.

"Hugs to you both, then," Hermione chuckled.

Dinner flowed into dessert, and dessert moved to the couches by the hearth. Doctor Strange taught Hermione how to make smokeless, controlled fire, much to her delight, and Loki taught her how to make cold, blue flames that were so cold it froze things around them.

"That's amazing," Hermione said happily. "Blue is usually the colour of the hotter flames— at least the non-magical kind. It's so beautiful! I wonder if you could use it to preserve food!"

Loki shrugged. "I have never… thought about using it in such a way."

"Well, I was thinking, squibs don't have magic, but they often live in the magical world. If you made a kind of magical ice-box with the flames, it could keep the food cool or frozen and yet not require magic to be cast like a stasis spell."

Loki tilted his head. "Do you always think of how something can benefit everyone but yourself?"

Hermione paused. "Well, I _do_ know a stasis spell so—"

Strange laughed, a deep, warm sort of sound that caused Hermione to stop. He waved her off with his hands. "I'm sorry, it's just— I could have used someone like you to inspire me back when I was conflicted on why I had been called to be a sorcerer. Back when I was first learning, it was like learning a new language and martial arts wrapped together with a shot of obscure and a chaser of cryptic. No one ever dreamed big around you or thought how wonderful it would be if a certain spell could help people preserve their food across the world. The connection was missing. I had to find my own connection back to humanity— a reason to succeed."

Stephen smiled. "The Ancient One was very wise, but she did not spoon feed, and I really needed both a spoon and a bib for quite some time."

"Were you not performing magic as a child?" Hermione asked. "Witches and wizards usually have some accidental magic. When they turn eleven, they get called to a magical school and are taught in various fields of magic until they are adults."

"No, Hermione," Strange said with a chuckle. "I was writing papers on the carcinogenic effects of pollution on lung tissue at that age."

"At _**ELEVEN?**_ " Hermione gasped, staring goggle-eyed at him.

"I really wanted to become a doctor." Stephen gazed into the fire. "My sister, Donna, loved to skate. She fell all the time. That was normal, but she hurt herself pretty bad that one time. I wanted to help her. That is what inspired me to become a doctor."

"So, you ended up in neurosurgery?" Hermione asked, trying to connect the dots.

"Turned out I had talent there. I had originally intended to be a family doctor, but it didn't quite work out that way," Strange said wistfully.

Hermione looked thoughtful, the lines of her face furrowing as she concentrated. "Do you ever wish it could have?"

Stephen stroked his beard and shrugged. "Yes. I often wonder what could have been or if I'd have been happy patching up such mundane things as legs and arms or the common cold."

"What about you, Loki?" Hermione asked.

Loki startled, having been staring quite intently into the fire. "I and my brother had been raised since birth in preparation for the throne," he said. "I— had not even imagined a fate other than that."

"That must have been—"

"Privileged?" Loki said bitterly, cutting her off.

"Lonely," Hermione said quietly, gently touching his hand.

Loki stared at her hand as though she had just attacked him with a viper, his fast twisted in a conflict only he knew. His index finger slowly brushed against Hermione's fingers, and he nodded. "I was raised believing that we both had equal rights to prove ourselves worthy of the throne, but it was a lie. I never actually had a chance."

He stared into the fire. "Did you know the Norse believed I was actually the blood brother to Odin? Would you believe that would have actually been easier to take than being some foundling who was fated to die, rescued on a whim, raised as the child of a king, and then told he wasn't _really_ their son. For the longest time, all I ever wanted was to make my father proud, then I wanted to prove to him what a bad choice Thor was. By the time Thor did what I'd been trying to get him to do for the longest time— do a little thinking before rushing headlong into the giant's ogre, our relationship was beyond repair. Now, no matter what happens, there will never be what I had wanted."

Strange frowned. "What did you want, Loki? What did you _really_ want?"

Loki's lips pressed into a flat line. "To belong. To be worthy of notice."

Hermione looked down into her lap and realised she was petting a pile of pikas without having even noticed. They cuddled under her hand making happy, content noises. "Did you not have anyone? Anyone who—"

"My mother," Loki said, eyes darkening. "She's dead. Turns out she wasn't my real mother anyway."

"Bullshite," Hermione said, her first clenching.

Loki startled, surprised by Hermione's sudden wrath.

"Did she love you?"

Loki winced. "Yes."

"Did she wipe away your tears?"

Loki looked down. "Yes."

"Did you love her?"

"She wasn't my—"

"Did you _love_ her?" Hermione asked, fire blazing across her eyes.

"Yes," Loki replied, turning his head away to stare at the wall.

"Then she was your mother," Hermione said bitterly. "I grieve with you and those you have lost, but I do not suffer your opinion that because she did not give birth to you that somehow she is less of a person. Less of a mother. Less. Worth." Her eyes flashed, and for a moment darkness flowed across them and then disappeared. "My parents were murdered because I was _defective_. I was Muggle-born— a Mudblood. They killed them to torture me. I will not dishonour them by making light of them being non-magical. They were not less worthy of love because they couldn't wield a wand."

The pikas piled up in her lap, purring, and the fury in Hermione's eyes faded as she scooped them up and cuddled them. "I'm sorry, this is my first Christmas away from Gringott's. Being around the more human element reminds me of— loss. Good thing these guys won't let you stay grumpy."

The pikas chirred at her, all fighting for equal pets and cuddles.

"You should try it," Hermione said, transferring a plump pika into both Stephen and Loki's lap.

" _Chirrr?"_ the pikas said, wiggling their noses and ears invitingly.

Loki and Stephen awkwardly petted the pikas at first, but slowly seemed to thaw out, giving them more enthusiastic petting and attention.

Hermione's expression softened, relaxing a little more as the tension in the room simmered down to a level she could handle. Her head jolted up. "Oh! It's— _**OH!"**_

 **Crack.**

She was gone, and the pikas that had been on her lap squeaked in startled surprise.

Loki and Strange exchanged confused glances.

"I'd ask if she left the kettle on, but she left home, so—"

Loki shrugged. "We didn't even get to the presents." He nudged the whimpering package with his toe, hushing it. The bow shook and rustled, but the parcel quieted.

Strange narrowed his eyes. "You didn't shove a member of some alien face-hugging species in there, did you?"

" _ **Me?**_ Please, it's Christmas," Loki muttered. "Besides, gifting a creature from an alien face-hugging species is for when you break up with someone."

Stephen arched a brow. "Hmmm…. 'Kay."

"Besides, from what I've seen so far, she'd end up befriending the alien, and she'd be the queen of the entire hive within minutes," Loki said.

"Wait, weren't you married?" Strange asked.

"Sigyn was… not _my_ idea," Loki pointed out dryly. "And she divorced me after Odin chose to transform our sons into wolves and had them kill each other."

"He… _**what**_?"

"Asgardians like to believe themselves both timeless and superior, but when it comes right down to it, they still like to fight with swords and really large enchanted hammers. The hammer, Mjölnir, was actually crafted by a non-Asgardian on a dare. The walls of Asgard were created by a giant in less than a week— or would have, had the gods not decided it was my fault he was succeeding and bade me fix the problem."

"How did that end?" Strange asked.

"I got pregnant with an eight-legged horse," Loki said with a sniff.

Stephen gaped a little.

Loki waved him off with a sigh. "Believe me, giving birth to a horse is not as bad as what would've awaited me if I did _not_ do what I did."

The sorcerer gave him an undecipherable look.

 **Crack!**

Hermione returned, her arms laden with packages. "I'm so sorry! I completely forgot about Christmas!" She grinned as she pulled out a gigantic bowl of tiny gingerbread biscuits and set it on the counter. "For my little furry friends," she huffed, shrugging the snow off her shoulders. She pulled out another parcel and opened it, dumping them into a candy bowl on the table. "Fudge flies for my eight-legged friends."

" _Eeeeee!"_ the spiders squealed with glee, all rushing to partake of the spoils. " _Thank you!"_

Both pikas and spiders sorted, Hermione tapped two tiny bundles with her wand, and they went from tiny to oversized boxes. She placed a brightly wrapped red and gold box in Strange's lap as the pikas dove happily into the gingerbread biscuits. She placed a brightly wrapped green and gold package in Loki's lap. "Happy Christmas!" she said brightly.

She sat on the empty couch and waited.

The two men just stared at her with wide eyes.

" _What?_ Britain may hate my guts, but there are plenty of places that don't, and they were more than happy to take my galleons."

"You barter in sailing vessels?"

Hermione tilted her head. "That would be rather difficult to carry in your pocket."

"This coming from a woman who just made giant packages out of tiny packages."

"Well, that wasn't exactly hard. They started out huge to begin with," Hermione replied. "Come on, come on! Open your presents!"

Stephen picked at the parcel with his fingernails, meticulously taking the wrapping paper off in mint condition. Loki looked at him with disapproval. " _Please_ don't tell me you are going to save the wrapping paper for posterity."

Strange eyed him. "My present. My way."

"I hope it isn't frozen candied butterflies because they will be a puddle of mush by the time you finally get the tape off."

"Get your _own_ package opened, Loki," Strange muttered.

Loki tore his wrapping paper off like a crocodile performing a death roll with a wildebeest. Paper bits flew in all directions. Loki eyed the ornate box he had uncovered. "Sabrefang & Battleax Outfitters?" he asked. "I've never heard of them."

Hermione shook her head at him, offering no commentary with which to help him.

He looked at Hermione suspiciously and opened the box. "You… gave me back my armour?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Try again." She pointed to the neatly folded pile of his clothes he had been wearing when he had been speared. It was still sitting on the chair and had a pika sleeping on top of it all.

Loki looked confusedly from the pile to the box, brows furrowing in concentration. He lifted out the armour, his fingers roaming the fine leather and metal adornments. "What—" he murmured. "What _is_ this made from?"

Hermione grimaced, baring her teeth in a very goblin smile. "Master Sabrefang owed me a favour. I trained a Nundu for him to guard a vault for a very special client."

"What is a Nundu?" both men asked simultaneously.

"Think a giant leopard that can breathe fatal disease when it is sufficiently pissed-off or exposed to hatefulness." Hermione scratched her head. "The client bought the cub, probably illegally, and wanted it trained after it ate his son. It was… complicated."

"He did not want it dead?" Loki asked, visibly astonished.

"Apparently the Nundu was worth more to him than the son," Hermione replied. "Pureblood families can be— let's just say they often have very different… priorities, and there was some rumour that the child in question was not quite as pureblood as the rest of the children, if you catch my meaning."

"Anyway, I trained the Nundu as a personal favour, and to a goblin— that means far more than what it would mean for most humans," Hermione said. "I get goblin fruitcake every New Year— secret family recipe handed down from great-great-great-great-grandmum Daggerclaw. It tastes like rainbows— or what I would imagine a rainbow to taste like if you could actually eat light. It's glorious. One piece the size of a pea is all you need. One cake lasts an entire year, and unlike most normal foods, it only gets better with age."

Loki eyed the fine-gauge chainmail that was hidden under the leather, and he hefted it up, thinking it would be heavy. The armour almost flew out of his hands, and he had to scramble to catch it before he threw it into the fire.

Hermione tried to stifle a laugh, but it only twisted her face into a maniacal grin.

"How is this _possible_?" Loki spluttered. "Surely this will just float away and leave me vulnerable to the very air?"

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "You could always _try_ attacking it."

Loki looked more than a little dubious. He grabbed the coat rack and flung his armor onto it. He glared at the armour turned, and then flung a giant ball of crackling blue magic at it.

The poor coat rack crumbled to dust everywhere that wasn't covered by armor, and the blast of magic ricocheted off it into about ten other directions. Terrified pikas went diving for cover. Celestial spiders fell out of their webs as others dove into Hermione's hair.

" _Eeeeeeeeeee!"_

" _Run for it!"_

" _Dive, dive!"_

" _Danger, danger, Will Robinson!"_

" _I'm a spider, not a target practice dummy!"_

" _Noooo, not the face!"_

" _My spleen!"_

" _Put me out, put me out!"_

A pika appeared out of nowhere and threw a goblet of water on the flaming spider.

 **Tzzssssss!**

" _Phew."_

The celestial spider clung to the pika in gratitude as the pika scurried back into one of the many, many pika dwellings in the walls.

"I— was thinking more with weapons," Hermione said, frowning, a few colourful spiders cautiously peeking out of her hair in paranoid apprehension.

"Oh," Loki said, looking sideways somewhat abashedly.

" _Reparo_ ," Hermione muttered, and the poor, abused coatrack reformed and stood straight again.

Loki pulled out a dagger and stabbed at the armor, attempting to slice across the typically "vulnerable" belly area.

There was an ungodly screech not terribly unlike that of nails across a chalkboard.

Hermione and Stephen winced together.

Loki felt the armour up and down. "What is this made of?" he whispered, his eyes going very wide. "There isn't armour like _this_ is all of Asgard. Not even the All-Father himself wears such a thing."

"I have a great many shed dragon-skins from the dragonets," Hermione told him. "Between that, the celestial spider silk for the lining, and the very best of goblin-metalsmiths— well, let's just say you're probably not going to get yourself stabbed any time soon. Unless they aim for your head, which I would hope you would have suitably covered.

"Dragonhide?"

"Once a dragonet realises you can help it shed, you become their new best friend. You can peel the entire thing off in about an hour, if they don't wiggle, and they won't if they know what you are trying to do— and, well, if they really trust you. After a shed, you oil their new skin and scales until they harden and you're good to go until the next shed." Hermione looked wistful.

"How do you know if a dragon trusts you?" Strange asked, curious.

"It doesn't actually eat you."

"What do you mean doesn't _actually_ eat you?"

"The dragon will attempt to "eat" you, and clamps its jaws around you and then licks you to death."

Strange stared at Hermione like she was certifiably insane. "So you just pray it doesn't eat you?"

Hermione tilted her head. "So far they haven't." She looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't go flinging yourself into a dragon's maw if you didn't know them, if that is what you think I do."

"I won't be going near a dragon if I can help it," Stephen promised.

Hermione shrugged.

The floo suddenly sprang to life, glowing a strange, luminous green.

"What the—" Hermione sputtered. "I haven't even linked this Floo— _ **ACK!"**_

 **Thump.**

 **WHUMP.**

 **Crash!**

Hermione lay flat on her back as three ecstatically happy dragonets purred and bumped their heads against her chest.

" _Rrrk!"_

" _Krirrrk!"_

" _SRRFfffff!"_

"Hourig, Aedh, Fahjra? What are you— How did you—?"

" _Squeeeerup!"_

" _Churrrrr!"_

" _Sssssssskar!"_

Hermione fell back, unable to resist the enthusiastic dragon attack. "Gahh," she moaned.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Strange asked worriedly.

Hermione squirmed as the dragonets licked every bit of exposed skin they could find. "Ahhh!"

Loki snickered as he sat back down on the couch.

"You could at least help her," Stephen said disapprovingly. "You're right there, you know."

"I'm enjoying this far too much," Loki said, still snickering. "Merry Christmas!"

Hermione waved her hand. "Peace," she said and spat out some sort of strange, growling speech. The three dragonets immediately ceased their antics and lay their heads on her chest, crooning softly.

" _Identify_ ," Hermione said in Gobbledegook, moving her hand out in a specific gesture. " _Remember._ "

The dragonets immediately perked and rushed over to Loki and sniffed him over. One tried to gnaw on Loki's head until Hermione clicked her tongue. Mollified, the dragonet bounded over to sniff over the sorcerer. All three then returned to Hermione.

" _Remember friend_ ," Hermione instructed.

All three dragonets looked up to her with nothing short of adoration and eager readiness.

Hermione signalled with her palm flat, and the dragonets lay on their bellies, heads down. "You don't mind if they take care of the leftovers, do you?"

Strange looked at Loki. "No?"

Loki shrugged. "I'm good."

The dragonets waiting, tails twitching and wings shuddering, hoping and waiting. Hermione clucked her tongue, and they ran up to her feet and looked up. She placed a piece of meat on top of each of their noses and waited. The dragonets trembled with excitement, struggling to maintain control.

"Okay!" Hermione said in English, and the dragonets snapped the meat up in a flash. She placed large bowls in front of them, having filled them up with all sorts of tasty dragonet-friendly things.

"Your present isn't going to unwrap itself, Stephen," Hermione said with a chuckle.

The sorcerer sighed dramatically and went back to picking at the package as Loki rolled his eyes at him.

"I do hope it's some sort of flesh-eating bacteria," Loki said with a disturbingly hopeful gleam in his eye.

"Wha?" Hermione gasped. " _Why?!_ "

"It would be infinitely more entertaining than watching him pick that package apart all night," Loki muttered.

"You're so terrible," Hermione said, humour dancing in her eyes.

Loki leaned down and scooped up a package and, smirking, tossed it lightly at Hermione, causing her to catch it with a startled whoof of air.

Hermione eyed Loki with a mild look of suspicion.

The package let out a sad, lonely, little whimper.

"There's— _**Merlin!"**_ Hermione immediately dove at the package and tore into it at once, sending bits of paper, ribbon, and box flying in all directions.

Icy, glowing eyes joyfully met hers as a four-legged "puppy" burst out of the package, tail wagging madly. Elongated canines stuck out from both gums, making his mouth seem impossibly large, yet the muzzle was short and strong. Two bony plate-tusks flanked both sides of its mouth, and tiny bumps went from top of head down to its long, spiny tail.

"Hrrrrowl?"

Hermione dropped the box and scooped up the happy little beast, pressing her face to his muzzle. "Merlin! You are so _**cute!**_ " She snuggled the beast, and it whined, growled, licked her face, and wagged its tail madly.

She cooed at the pup in Gobbledegook, and it cocked its head, listening to her attentively. Then there was a sudden flash of warmth and light, and Hermione wobbled slightly, sinking down onto the couch with a glassy look about her eyes.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Strange asked, concerned.

Hermione waved her hand. "I'm okay. I just— he's very loud and hyper."

She pressed her face to the pup's muzzle, closing her eyes.

"Harrrooo!" the pup howled, wriggling on his stomach.

Three curious dragonets peered over the arm of the couch. " _Krrrrk?"_

"Come over here and meet our new friend," Hermione invited them.

The dragonets didn't need any more encouragement, and they all clambered over the edge of the couch and shoved their noses into, on, and under the pup to get to know him more intimately.

"Harrrooo!"

" _Krrrk!"_

"You're being awfully quiet, Loki," Strange observed, still carefully working on his own present.

Loki, who seemed to be quite baffled by Hermione's response to the alien beast, shook himself and blinked. "I… wasn't expecting that reaction. I tried to give Sif a Jötunheim beast for her birthday once, and she— she didn't even give the poor creature a chance. Back then, I didn't know what it was. I couldn't understand why Sif had such a violent reaction, much less why it was not permitted in Asgard."

"Whyever not?" Hermione asked softly, getting mobbed by beasts all wanting their fair share of the pets and hugs.

"It was from Jötunheim," Loki explained grimly. "The land of Asgard's mortal enemy."

Hermione frowned. "Well, _**I'm**_ hardly going to cast you out, am I, little guy?"

"Harroool!" the pup agreed enthusiastically.

"Well, let's get you outside so you can go about your business," she said, standing up. She wobbled a little, but this time, Loki was there, his arm instantly around her to keep her supported. She leaned into him for a long moment, eyes closing, her face pressed against his arm. She attempted to walk forward, but she remained dizzy.

"I'm so sorry," she apologised to Loki. "I'm not normally so dizzy."

"It is nothing," Loki replied softly.

When her hands touched his skin, it turned a deep, cobalt blue, and Loki startled, moving to jerk his arm away.

Hermione, however, simply grasped his arm for support and began to walk, completely oblivious to his surprise and discomfiture.

"Come along, Fonn," Hermione called out to the pup. "You too, you sneaky little reptilian interlopers."

The dragonets bounded after, happily chasing Fonn's tail.

"Fonn?" Loki asked curiously.

"It's his name."

"You named him already?"

Hermione tilted her head. "He told me." She looked at him with no little curiosity, seemingly debating with herself on if he had somehow missed out on a conversation that she fully expected him to have remembered.

"I think I'm starting to understand Luna a little better," Hermione said a bit wistfully as she watched Fonn dig himself a pit and squat over it. Steam rose as the pup gratefully emptied his poor, tortured bladder. "Poor thing must have been holding it a long time."

The dragonets, much like cats, dug themselves a trench, relieved themselves, and then immediately buried the evidence. As the cold seemed to rise up from the ground, Loki's skin shifted again from the pale, pinkish human shade back to the cobalt blue.

Loki tried to turn his face away, fearfully shielding his changing eyes and face from her gaze.

Hermione didn't even seem to notice. She was cuddling the little beast pup and twirling him around before letting him go romp with the dragonets around the "yard" which was the entire plateau. Yet neither beast nor dragonets seemed at all inclined to leave her sight, always keeping an ear perked or head up to spot check where she was at all times.

Loki startled as gentle arms wrapped around his waist and he found himself caught up in a warm hug.

"Thank you so much," she said, smiling up into his crimson eyes and he was utterly astonished that she did so without even the slightest flinch. Then she tenderly kissed him on the cheek.

Loki froze in place, stiffening in total shock.

Hermione, reading his body language as discomfort, winced and turned away. "My apologies," she said quickly, stepping away from him despite her currently untrustworthy legs. "I did not mean to offend."

Loki's hand immediately shot out, locking around her wrist. "Please," he said hoarsely. "I swear to you that I took no offense. I am simply… unaccustomed to such open displays of affection." He winced, struggling with his words. "It was not unwelcome. It was simply— unexpected."

"Goblins are a very expressive society," Hermione began quietly.  
"They are highly tactile beings with a multi-layered expression and language that the outside world does not get to see. When I was— more or less adopted, I felt myself in sensory overload at first. The touch of a finger against mine as a paper passed—a look, a show of fang, a grimace that was not at all what most humans think— You would never know it if you didn't truly _know_ , and I am sorry if my expressions made you uncomfortable."

Loki shook his head. "No, I would far rather feel this awkwardness knowing you could touch this," he said, gesturing to himself as if it explained everything, "than never to feel it at all." Loki's eyes looked haunted, pained.

Hermione cocked her head in puzzlement. "You can't be serious."

Loki gave her an odd look. "What do you mean?"

"With _your_ looks— your beautiful cobalt skin and crimson eyes and perfect almost-wild hair," Hermione said wonderingly. "You'd have every Avatar fan at a Muggle comic-con attempting to accost you, if not outright relieve you of your trousers right on the main floor in front of thousands of witnesses."

Loki just gaped at her in shock.

Hermione gently closed his mouth for him. "Careful, love, you'll catch flies."

Loki swallowed hard and shifted his weight awkwardly.

Hermione's fingers lightly traced his brows and the markings that crisscrossed his skin like the lines of map, or she thought, the intricate equations of Arithmancy. Loki shuddered, his breath hitching in his throat. He began to pant, his arms wrapping around her suddenly as he crushed her feverishly against himself, still trembling.

Hermione stilled in his embrace, confused as to what had suddenly changed, then her mind started to put two and two together and finally came up with pi. "Oh! _**OH!**_ I'm _**so**_ sorry!" she gasped. "I'm just mucking it all up!" She struggled to wriggle out of his embrace and restore whatever dignity either of them had before she had unintentionally felt up a visiting god.

Hermione, flustered, flushing, and fighting back her own body's visceral reaction to being in the warm arms of an _extremely_ attractive and desirable male, alien god or otherwise, slipped out of his arms and called the dragonets and frost beast to her with a hasty, "Ishouldgoinandcleanthetablerightnow."

She beat a hasty retreat, hiding her very flushed face as her frantic heart tried to beat its way out of her chest and her nostrils flared as it tried to record the very scent of him in stone. "You are so _beneath_ him!" she hissed furiously to herself. "You are _nothing_. You are plain, ordinary, nothing special. You could _NEVER_ attract the likes of a god, Hermione Granger. You can't even get along with the people you protected in a war. Stupid. Stupid. _STUPID_ girl." She vanished into the cottage and out of sight.

Minutes later, Loki's fingers moved, and his eyes shifted one direction and then the other as his range of motion slowly came back to him. His breath escaped in a heavy sigh, and a rather new sensation tugged insistently in his lower regions. He let out a ragged breath, and he could still smell _her—_ her intoxicating scent of magic, sweet persimmons and the welcome hint of spring after a long and dreary winter.

The feel of her hands— her gentle fingers running along the runic circles that covered his skin—had taken away every single coherent thought he had possessed. There had only been the sweetest, almost agonising ecstasy imaginable.

As Loki worked his way back indoors, he saw Doctor Strange, buried almost waist high in books, give Hermione a tender hug. "Thank you, Hermione. You are too kind."

Hermione smiled at him. "You are welcome." Then she caught sight of Loki and flushed, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'm going to get ready for bed. Take your time reading them. They are yours now."

Strange mumbled something that might have been a yes as he cracked open a book, fluffed a plump pika, and cuddled with it on the couch as he read. Hermione blushed hotly and beat a swift retreat, avoiding all eye contact with Loki as the trail of dragonets, one frost beast pup, pikas, and a line of celestial spiders frantically tried to keep up with her.

* * *

"You are avoiding me," Loki commented quietly, close enough to her ear to make her shudder slightly.

"I am _**not**_ avoiding you," Hermione said, her eyes safely lowered as she watered the row of plants.

"What, then, would you call it?"

"I'm avoiding an awkward situation caused by irrational, unthinking behaviour on my part," Hermione said, feeding the carnivorous orchid from her fingers and scratching it under its 'chin'.

"The only thing awkward between us, my lady, is that you left before I could reciprocate," Loki said calmly, leaning against the wall and watching her carefully.

Hermione flushed brightly, setting her jaw, and forcing herself to continue her walk down the line. "Please, do not mock my ignorance to your— erogenous zones— by feigning actual interest."

Loki let out a breath between his teeth. "Hermione, I do _**not**_ mock. Not about something like that. And I would never mock you, much less feign interest that I do not feel."

Hermione shot him a swift look.

"Please let me rephrase. I do not jest or mock when something is serious."

"And how would a lowly mortal know what a god might consider serious?" Hermione asked, her gaze turning ineffably sad.

At first Loki was angered by her seeming to mock his claims to godhood, but then he saw her sadness. "You truly do not see yourself as being worthy of notice?"

Hermione closed her eyes in pain. "I am not. That has been categorically proven."

"Then pick a different category," Loki advised seriously, approaching her to close the gap between them. "Only the most ignorant of fools would believe that of one such as you."

" _ **I**_ believe it," Hermione said grimly.

"Then you are a _**fool!**_ " Loki snapped and then immediately kicked himself. "I apologise. I." He squared his shoulders and faced her solemnly. "I— I simply cannot understand how one such as you would not have throngs of suitors beating down your door. Look at all you have done in the last week alone. You have convinced that sorcerer to leave his new library of books to go patch up an interstellar vortex. You weave him a new and improved levitation cloak. You charm his original cloak into following you about like a loyal hound. You recruit and are subsequently adopted by a clutter of celestial spider weavers. You inspire such love and loyalty that your dragonets figure out a way to use the hearth to spit them out here in the snowy peaks of nowhere. You have an entire population of rare magical fuzzy creatures whose only want in life is to serve you until you don't exist— not until they die, no, but until _you_ no longer exist. You bonded to a young Jötunheim beast faster than my brother can get lost in his massive ego. And you even found beauty in one such as myself."

"That's not something suitors want. That's what some special task force wants to have around to patch up calamities whenever they crop up."

"Yes, and they would name it S.H.I.E.L.D.," Loki snarked bitterly. "It would be lead by a man named Fury, which would be appropriate because he excels at making many people furious."

Loki rubbed his temples. "Hermione. I am interested in _**you**_. Truly. I wish to caress and learn every curve of your body as I explore every intriguing corridor of your mind."

Hermione looked as though she wanted let loose an entire string of protests, but Loki pressed his body close to hers, his hands just barely alighting over her robes as his face hovered tantalisingly near her ear.

"Hermione," he breathed softly into her hair.

"Loki—" she said his name in a hushed whisper.

He lowered his mouth down to her neck, his breath lightly tickling her skin. She shuddered, her breaths coming faster. "Say that you will have me," he murmured against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Say that you want me too."

Hermione stared up into his eyes, watching as the crimson bled across them and the cobalt blue spread across his face. Her fingers traced his lips, and with a tender brush of fingertips, she traced the lines of his face, watching his eyes grow darker— more needful, more primal, and so very much more excitingly male.

"Please," Loki whispered, barely able to form coherent words at this point. He looked into her eyes and saw her at the threshold of decision. One step forward led to the unknown abyss of what _could_ be; one step backwards would lead to the safety of what was known and terribly lonely, forever denied the touch of that one person who could truly understand.

Loki didn't want to be lonely anymore. He didn't want his only legacy to be forever hated by everyone. He was no longer content to rule if that meant— what _would_ it mean? The answer suddenly came to him as Hermione's lips pressed against one of his markings and he _knew…_ all he wanted was her.

"I want you," she said so quietly that it seemed to ghost across his sensitised skin in lieu of actual words. "But I am afraid."

Loki pulled her into him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to merge into one being so the exquisite pleasure of her touch could be felt everywhere at once. Instead, he slowly kissed her neck, his hands roaming up her arms and along the back of her neck. "I will never, ever intentionally hurt you. This I swear to you. You of all the people in the Realms can trust me. Trust me?"

Hermione gasped as Loki's breath tickled her ear. "I am such a fool," she said, her fingers rubbing the lobes of Loki's ears through his thick black hair. "But I _do_ trust you."

Somehow, they had found their way into the bedroom, but neither of them paid any heed to which one it was. Loki peeled off Hermione's robes as one would peel the leaves from an artichoke, taking time between each movement to place his mouth on her skin to both pleasure and taste her. Hermione moaned, panting as her body surged up to meet his— eager, needful, and with a mind of its own.

He explored every curve of her body with his hands and almost as many with his lips and tongue, savouring the little whimpering sounds she made as he touched her. Her hands explored his skin as he explored hers, and it was only by sheer willpower alone that he didn't collapse with the ecstasy that her gentle touch brought to him. His mouth explored her breasts, and Hermione let out a throaty moan and a shudder. Heat seemed to rise off her body, and Loki felt his readiness rise stiffly at attention, leaving no doubt at all of his very real attraction and desire.

Hermione's eyes widened as she caught the look of him from head to his toes. Her heat called to him like a siren's song, and he moved his hand between her legs to ensure that he wouldn't hurt her. But she was ready, and so, too, was he.

They moved together, finding an intoxicating rhythm that was wholly natural, yet not too difficult to follow. Her hips moved in time with his, and he buried himself in the sensation of her warmth even as her hands moved caressingly over his back. They clung to each other desperately, perhaps thinking the other a mere illusion that would disappear if they dared to let go. Hermione made soft whimpering noises in the back of her throat as he moved within her, the two of them flying faster and faster toward their ultimate completion.

In that pure, glorious, transcendent moment, nothing in Loki's past mattered anymore. Power, rule, all of it was nothing if it meant he had to let go of her— Hermione, the woman who tamed the beasts. Let Thor have his golden throne in Asgard. Let All-Father keep trying to give it to Thor. Let Thor deny him again and again. It didn't matter to him anymore. The only thing that mattered was _her_.

He felt her body beginning to tighten around him, and he ground into her in one final thrust as a tidal wave of overwhelming ecstasy burst inside of him, inside her— her mouth was locked over one of the markings on his chest even as the tidal wave of intense pleasure crashed over them both. The combination of his frantic, passionate release, driving need, and the feel of her warm mouth teasing the sensitive markings on his chest sent him hurtling helplessly backward into the white expanse of Oblivion.

His arms wrapped snugly around her as everything around him faded into blissful nothingness.

Neither were awake to notice that the Jotunn markings on Loki's body had started to glow a bright, almost blinding blue-white, and they slowly slithered over to Hermione's body in a perfect, undeniable mirror image of his own.

As the two lovers remained thoroughly entwined, Fonn poked his nose in the door, sniffed, and padded in, circled three times at the foot of the bed, and flopped down to sleep. Shortly after, three dragonets sneaked into the room, curling themselves around Fonn, and after that, a bunch of fuzzy pikas curled up into the empty spaces around the sleeping couple. Glistening celestial spiders poured in from the hidden crannies in the walls and crawled up the bedposts, weaving gossamer curtains to shelter the new couple as they slept. The spiders tucked themselves away in the folds of the outer canopy and slipped out of sight.

And all was right with the world.

* * *

Loki woke to a number of sensations, but none as intoxicating as the seemingly endless warmth of a body pressed invitingly close to his. Somehow, during the night, they had gained a spider-woven blanket and privacy curtains, but his eyes focused on the eerie glow of of the markings on his skin. They were most definitely glowing, and to his horror and fascination, Hermione's skin had gained his distinctive pattern. Would she hate them? Scorn them as the badge of shame and loathing he had come to associate them with?

Yet— as he ran his fingers across the markings on her arm, watching the glow shimmer and grow stronger. Hermione gave a soft, throaty moan, and her arms slid around his neck as she pressed her body close to his, and their markings touched.

Loki gasped, his body spasmed as he pulled her against him, tightening his embrace around her body as the breath crushed out of his lungs as a wave of sheer ecstasy rolled over him— much like her touch had utterly undone him when she first innocently caressed his markings, only a hundred-thousand times stronger. He buried his face into her curls, feeling as though his very soul was being caressed and massaged. He groaned into her skin, desiring nothing more than to wrap himself around her every curve and descend into this strange and unexpected feeling of— belonging.

Never once in his time with Sigyn or Angrboða did he ever feel this, this perfect sense of completion. He had sired and given birth to both sons and beasts, and yet neither had done what this wild-curled Midgardian witch had done. She had awoken pieces of him he hadn't realised he had or had thought safely buried under his pain and wounded ego. Suddenly, he wanted to provide, to protect, and forever touch the wondrous creature that she was.

He lowered his mouth to hers, savouring the velvet feel of her lips as he breathed against them. Had someone told him what those markings were capable of invoking, perhaps he would have been less eager to hide them. Perhaps, Sigyn would have left him sooner. Angrboða may have thought him too sentimental. No, this was _different_. Hermione was… special, brilliant, quirky, wondrously open-minded and compassionate. Had be been bound to some other woman and _then_ met Hermione— there would have been a special place in Hel for that sort of bitter anguish.

And yet, Hermione was… mortal.

Loki's face twisted in pain, remembering how he had mocked Thor's lover for having such a fleeting life. Thor had adamantly believed she was worth it— he still believed what they had was worth it. But Loki knew that Thor had not experienced anything remotely like _this—_ the caress of her magic against his as their very souls hummed together to a chord of absolute perfection. Had he, Loki, known, he would have mocked him still, calling him a fool. Such intimacy did not truly exist. Such tenderness was but a shameful weakness,

Oh, but how he had been proven _wrong_.

The thought of the years wasted trying to take over the world and Asgard— all those years in which he could have found her sooner and shared in her life for a few more days, weeks, or even years. What would that have been like? Had he found her as a child— shown her universes and realms beyond her knowing and opened her mind to possibilities sooner rather than later? But had he not been around to discover his "faulty heritage" he would never have realised what he truly was and _this—_ whatever this glorious bond that was forming between them— would have never happened. Even if he had shared such wonders with her, perhaps even sharing her bed, she would never have seen his true face and been able to accept it without question.

He would never have been able to accept it without _her_.

He would have remained arrogant, blind, and entitled, perhaps thinking he was doing a good deed in showing some poor fleeting mortal the wonders of the great many unexplored worlds that spanned the universe. He wouldn't have been able to appreciate her for the priceless gift that she was.

"Hermione," he said her name like a power word, a rune, and the total embodiment of being.

Hermione's eyes opened sleepily. "Mmmph."

"Hello, lover," he said, his voice trembling with the strength of his ardent worship.

He froze as she caught sight of the markings on her skin, fearful that reality would set in and drive her away with fear and loathing. Instead, she pressed her palm to his, lining up the markings in a perfect couplet.

Loki shuddered, and she gasped, her eyes rolling back into her head with the sudden rush of intense pleasure. "Loki," she whispered, his name seemingly nothing and everything.

His name, just his name on her lips, caused a warmth to spread throughout his body, and he knew he could have been standing in the biting freeze of Jötunheimr's iciest wasteland and still he would not feel chilled. He caressed her face, brushing his thumb against the runic circles. They glowed as he touched them, and her eyes drifted closed with the pleasure of his gentle brush of fingers.

"Any woman who left you was such a fool," Hermione said, her eyes half-lidded in enjoyment. "I beg of you, if this is only a trick, please allow me a few moments to remember what this feels like."

She thinks _this_ a trick? Loki thought to himself.

"It is no trick," Loki said, pressing his forehead to hers in a flare of magic.

Hermione stared into his crimson eyes. "I want to believe you, but I can't help but feel I don't deserve this. Or you."

"If I could , I would find every single last pathetic imbecile that planted such seeds of doubt in your mind and take off their fingers one by one as I hung them by their puny testicles."

Hermione snorted, a small smile tugging insistently at her lips. "What if they don't have testicles?"

"I'd find _some_ thing to hang them by," Loki promised darkly.

Hermione touched his face, tracing the lines of his mouth, nose, and eyes. "But you are so beautiful, and I am—"

"Beyond mere beauty to me," Loki assured her, cutting her off with a kiss. Their magic met together with the insistent mating of their mouths, and Hermione gasped as he drew his hands caressingly over her arms, her markings, her body.

"Lllllooooki," she moaned breathily. She panted, shuddering against him.

"That look in your eyes," Loki said with no little wonder. "Look upon me with _that_ look, my sorceress, and I will move mountains in your name. But, for now, I would court you as befits an honourable woman, the lady that you are, that you may accept or reject me as being compatible to your desires."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "May I take a moment to contemplate an entire lonely lifetime without your touch?"

Loki tilted his head.

"Yes, Merlin, _**yes,**_ " Hermione said, placing her palms to his chest. The runes flared between them, and Loki pulled her tightly against him with a low, predatory growl of pure, primal need.

He clamped his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, laving his tongue against her even as his teeth grasped the skin, his hands clawing over her hips and dragging her up so she was completely mated to his body, bare skin against bare skin.

Hermione groaned heatedly, clawing at his back as her breathing grew heavy and deep. "I think we may have just skipped over courtship entirely," she said, gliding her hands tenderly across his marked skin.

"Good thing you said yes, then," Loki rumbled in her ear, pinning her wrists down to the bed as he moved between her legs. His mouth teased her already erect nipples and he listened to her make small whimpering sounds as her body struggled vainly to touch him. He restrained her just enough to keep her from freeing herself as he experimentally ran his tongue over her markings.

Hermione's body shuddered underneath him, a loud cry of ecstatic abandon escaping her lips. He smiled down at her, his crimson eyes glowing in the dimness as he slowly, deliberately pressed his cheek to hers. Hermione made a strange, howling sound, and she quivered and writhed with an all-consuming want and need.

Genuine, _unfiltered_ need.

Loki's mouth covered hers as he slid into her welcoming warmth, and a wave of almost unbearable pleasure surged through them both, their twin markings glowing brightly as their bodies fully merged together. He thrust repeatedly, deeper and faster, unable to stop the continuous waves of what seemed like more and more heady pleasure with every thrust, and—

She was free, clawing at his back as her legs wrapped around his body, her multiple markings mating fully with his.

" _ **Gaia's tits!"**_ Loki cursed fluently as he simply could not hold back any longer. His hips thrust strongly, and her body seemed to lock around his throbbing manhood to keep it entirely sheathed and pulsing within her.

Red and black particles swirled around them like a hurricane as the magic of their mated markings melted and melded together. Two ancient magics pooled together as their passion climaxed together. Glowing red and black spread across their bodies, filling in the grooves of their markings, fusing to their mated bodies as a surge of their sexual gratification and magical release merged together and pulsed as a great, synchronised heartbeat.

They collapsed together bonelessly as tendrils of black and red wove around them like the weaving of a great cocoon, binding them both in their intimate embrace. Their heartbeats sounded off as one as their magics infused to the other, and the Aether seeped into their very souls, finally claiming for itself what it had searched for countless eons to find. At last, finally Hermione's channels were wide open, and the Aether surged into every single one of the newly opened channels until it had completely fused to every fibre of her being.

 _Completion!_ It whispered. _Blessed completion at last!_

 **Foooooom!**

A ring of power blasted outwards from the forming cocoon that was both unmaking and remaking those joined within. Tentacles of the great leviathan— some of the purest of light, some of the darkest of the Abyss— wrapped protectively around the pulsating cocoon, protecting the priceless contents within its monstrous coils.

Meanwhile, high above in Asgard, Odin impatiently waited for Heimdall to tell him where his wayward adopted son had squirreled himself away this time.

Heimdall's golden all-seeing eyes met his king's. "I am very sorry, my King," he said with a puzzled expression on his face. "He has somehow vanished from my sight."

Odin slammed down his spear. "What do you mean, "vanished"?"

"Either he had been transformed into something entirely new, or Loki is dead, my King."

"Dead," Odin repeated slowly, his eyebrow twitching.

"This changes nothing," Odin said, dismissing it. "Thor, take the containment down there and take the Aether back. We will make sure it is put somewhere that doesn't find a way to escape again."

" Father, is it _wise_ to use such an untested prison? We have no idea if it will work." Thor asked, obviously shaken deeply by the news of his brother's possible demise.

"We have no _**choice!**_ " Odin bellowed, slamming his hand down. "If the Aether is loose, it will kill and kill until it runs out of new hosts, and it will not stop until all of Miðgarðr is smoke and ruin. You will do as I say!"

Thor sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, father," he said reluctantly, grabbing hold of Mjölnir and striding out of the warroom.

* * *

 _Chirrrrrrrr?_

Slurp.

 _Chirrrrrrrr?_

Whine. Slurp.

Hermione mumbled something that sounded like a hiss and tried to burrow back into the comforting warmth of the bed and Loki's arms.

 _Chirrrrrrr._

Whine. Wet nose nudges.

A feminine hand snaked out from Loki's arms and pointed at Fonn's nose. "Back, demon-dog. I command it."

Whineeeeeee. He licked her finger, hopefully wagging his tail.

"You have to go out, don't you?" Hermione muttered.

A tail thumped steadily against the bed.

Ice-cold water splashed Hermione directly in the face, and she bolted out of the bed with a yelp.

She glared up at the bed where a dozen celestial spiders were pointing their legs at one spider in particular— a spider with a miniature bucket clutched in its forelegs.

" _He did it!"_ the other spiders accused, immediately scurrying away to hide. The obviously guilty spider trembled, looking rather nervous.

"Come here, Bucket," Hermione said with an amused expression. She held out her hand. The celestial spider silk-glided to her hand and cooed as she drew her hand across his body. "Silly thing," she admonished, scratching his belly with one finger. "Come on, let's go out the puppy before he piddles." Bucket hugged her fingers, scurried up her arm and dove into her hair.

She filled the kettle and put it on the hearth to heat then walked to the door and opened it. Fonn zoomed out in a hurry, and Hermione pondered the wisdom of making a frost-doggy door. How big _did_ Jötunheim frost beasts get? She could always charm him a collar so he'd always fit through the door, she supposed. That might even save her a few doors, too.

"Mum was always afraid of dogs," Hermione mused to herself. "I wonder what she'd think of Fonn?"

As she was daydreaming and creating an adaptable door, she tripped over something, and she stumbled before standing back up and peering at the ground.

A hammer was sitting in the middle of her doorway.

Fonn had apparently jumped over it as he ran out to do his business, but she didn't remember making a hammer. "I don't even remember having a hammer," Hermione said, boggling. She shrugged, picked it up and went back into the house, placing the hammer out of the way on the counter.

"Somewhere, my mother is screaming 'Don't put tools on the counters, Hermione!'." Hermione chuckled. "And my father will be handing me more tools to put there."

She looked skyward and sighed. "I'm sorry, mom and dad. I hope you know that, wherever you are."

After a quick check, she realised she was three dragonets short of a menagerie, and she should probably make sure they weren't out there terrorising the countryside. First things first— she realised with some embarrassment that she was quite starkers— clothes. How had she _not_ noticed? That wasn't exactly something you would ordinarily miss living among the snow plateaus of Tibet!

There was a suckerfish stuck to her neck. "I'm not complaining," Loki purred into her skin, his hands rubbing up and down her arms as he grasped her, pulling her to his—

" _ **Merlin!"**_ she gasped. "You're—"

"Loki, and you're Hermione," Loki said, cocking his head and shaking it sadly. "Are you catching a fever?" He placed his hand to her forehead. "Do you need some mothering?"

"I can't think straight whenever you touch me!" Hermione whinged.

Loki purred. "And this is a problem how? I like it when you touch _me_."

"I know you— _**hey!**_ " Hermione extracted herself from his warm arms and managed to look thoroughly flustered from all angles.

"Do you shun my touch, after all of what we have shared?" Loki said, pouting.

"Eeeiiggghhhsssss!" Hermione moaned. "Don't be like that."

Loki gave her the eyes and a lip quiver, and Hermione slumped, shuffling over into Loki's arms. Loki enfolded her victoriously, grinning as he pressed his face into her hair.

"I _hate_ you,"Hermione muttered breathily as he attached himself firmly to her neck. She let out a soft moan.

"I don't think that means what you think it means," Loki murmured, pausing only to speak before his tongue slid over her markings, and her legs abruptly gave out on her. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the hot spring. "You need a bath. You stink of sex and me."

Hermione sputtered at him.

"I would far rather you smell of you," Loki purred, "that I might rub myself all over you."

"But then I'd smell of you aga— _**MFFFPH!"**_

Hermione's rationale was abruptly cut off by the stealthy insertion of a tongue in the most distracting of places. She massaged his hair, shuddering and sighing as he did the most wonderful things with his tongue, sliding against every marking on her body. The heated water was enough to flush their skin and heighten their arousal. Yet Loki did not renege on his promise. He grabbed a nearby towel, lathered it, and gently rubbed her skin, washing everywhere from behind her ears to her toes. Hermione mumbled something incoherently as he laid a tender kiss on her neck, cradling her in the water as he gazed lovingly down upon her.

The celestial spiders arrived on the scene with spider-sized sponges, lathered up, and pounced on Loki, scrubbing him down as he held their mistress, even pausing to clean his ears, lather up his hair into a odd, foamy swirl, and then flung themselves off to wherever they had been prior to their arrival.

Hermione just grinned at him, having watched Loki's ordeal with considerable amusement.

Loki dipped down into the heated water to rinse his hair and began a low, rumbling croon as he focused his attention back on his mate. He rubbed her shoulders and drove his thumbs into her neck, watching her eyes flutter closed in rapture. Her body seemed conflicted between utter relaxation and heady arousal. He pressed a gentle kiss on her lips as he leaned her against the perfect incline of the hot springs. "As much as I would adore claiming you again, my lover, perhaps we should feed the beast."

"Which one?" Hermione chuckled as she brushed his hair with her fingers.

"Me," Loki purred. "But we can feed the others too, hrm?"

"So you _are_ a beast, are you?" Hermione teased.

Loki pressed his mouth to the bridge of her nose. "For you, I can be anything." He climbed out of the hot spring and helped her up, wrapping a thick towel around her somewhat reluctantly. The Cloak of Levitation threw another towel at Loki and pushed him along, lovingly wrapping itself around Hermione with the rapt attentiveness of a jealous lover.

"That is hardly fair," Loki pouted.

Hermione stuck out her tongue at him. "Seduce your own Cloak of Levitation, lover."

Loki crossed his arms. "I would rather seduce _you_."

"Pffft." Hermione handed him a spatula. "You can make eggs, can't you?"

"I would better handling the sausage. Eggs and I are not on speaking terms unless I am stabbing them with my fork."

Hermione swapped out the spatula for the tongs. "Okay." She handed him the hamper of sausage and the cast iron griddle. "Do you like fungus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mushrooms. Breakfast."

"Oh, um, sure."

Spiders sashayed by, carrying various cooking implements and a jar of beans.

"Better hurry, or the spiders will beat you to it," Hermione laughed.

"I will not be outdone by arachnids!" Loki proclaimed.

Hermione pointed her spatula at the pikas cheering on the cooking spiders, frying up some mean looking hashbrowns.

Loki grunted and put the sausage on the griddle, using his magic to create a fire.

"Hey," Hermione said, getting Loki's attention. "How's your stab wound today?"

"It aches somewhat," Loki said, his face serious, "but the wound is flawless thanks to you."

"I wouldn't thank me," Hermione said. "You are the god, after all. You healed in less than a week. That was no feat of mine."

"Oh, I wouldn't say you were entirely blameless," Loki said thoughtfully. "You healed far more than a mere wound to the gut."

Hermione caught his gaze and flushed, turning back to the eggs. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Fertilised," Loki said, staring at her straight-faced.

Hermione dropped the spatula and had to pick it up again. "Over easy it is."

Loki turned the sausage with a smug smile, his hand creeping over run along the underside of her arm.

Hermione flung the spatula clear across the room, and the spiders webbed it before it could fall.

" _Got it!"_

" _Phew!"_

They carried it back to her, and Hermione flushed crimson and rushed over to the sink to wash it off.

As she went back to the eggs, Loki pressed his mouth to her neck, catching her spatula. "I love what my touch does to you, lover," he whispered in her ear. And just like that, he was back tending the sausage.

"Are you sure you're the god of mischief?" Hermione spouted. "Because I think you're the sodding god of utter distraction."

Loki smiled, his long black hair falling about his face.

"Thank Merlin I didn't know you when I was studying for my NEWTs!" Hermione hissed, flipping her eggs expertly.

The spiders scuttled toward the dining room table, carrying a full plate of cooked hash browns and prepared beans.

" _Job's done!"_

" _Hash browns for everyone!"_

" _Yay food!"_

"We've been outdone by spiders." Loki frowned.

"Celestial spiders, love," Hermione said. " In a league of their own."

The pikas ran by with a platter of fried bread, heading for the dining room table.

Loki moved his sausages onto a platter. "I give up. I concede loss to your most talented and hyperactively helpful familiars."

Hermione snorted moving the eggs onto a plate and handing them to Loki. "Eat your eggs before they get cold."

"And if I don't?" Loki asked.

"You'll have cold eggs," Hermione replied. "Not to mention lacking the energy for any further… activities."

"You're no fun," Loki complained, gliding towards the dining table. And then her second comment registered. He hurried a little faster.

Hermione filled the feeding troughs for the pikas, filled the bowls for the dragonets, and put out a bowl of what appeared to be insects made out of a nebula. The moment the clank of the food hitting the feeding bowls rang out, the three dragonets plowed through the newly-made "doggy" door, followed by Fonn, who was carrying a very familiar hammer in his mouth.

 **THUNK.**

He dropped it in the doorway and proceeded straight towards the food bowl.

"Fonn, you silly beast," Hermione chided gently, reaching down and picking up the wayward hammer. "Are you the reason I keep having to move this giant hammer around?" She hung it on the cloak rack by its heavy leather strap.

Loki eyed the hammer in question with an arched eyebrow but busily stuffed his face full of breakfast. Hermione sat down opposite of him and shared in the spoils, giving some thanks to all that went into making it.

The spiders cooed at her on their way back to hide in her hair, and the pikas rubbed up against her ankles before dashing off to do whatever chores they decided on doing.

"You know, my brother has a hammer like that one," Loki said as they finished breakfast. "Not to alarm you, but we no longer see eye-to-eye."

"You have a brother?" Hermione asked. "I'm sorry, if you told me, I've seem to have forgotten."

Loki shrugged. "We had a falling out when I let frost giants into Asgard to kill All-Father and start a war." Loki frowned. "I was very angry then. I had just found out my entire life was a lie, and my "father" was the cause of it. Then, I found my real father was the enemy "we" hated— a leader of a race that Asgardians all despised out of principle. My real father had left me as an infant to die by the casket of endless winters. Odin 'saved me' and raised me with Thor in preparation for the throne. I never knew any different until I realised because of what I was, I would never be king. I would never truly… fit in."

Loki's crimson eyes darkened as he returned to his human form. "My mother taught me magic, and maybe she somehow knew that one day I would need such magic. Spells, trickery, illusion— I used them all once, to protect Thor, Sif, and the warriors three, until the day Laufey grabbed me by the wrist and showed me what I _really_ was. Now, too much has happened for forgiveness. Once my brother held the hope that the brother he knew was in there somewhere, but I made sure to kill that hope in him many times over. Deep down, I wanted him to end me because I hated myself that much. I wanted Odin to simply admit that he wished he hadn't taken me away from Jötunheim. I wanted him to say it to my face. To all of Asgard. I wanted him to be seen for what he was, and in that moment I didn't care who I hurt to make it happen. Mother paid the price for my bitterness. It was because of me that Malekith knew how to get where he needed to go. I set a Cursed One loose on my family while I wallowed in prison. She died, and I wasn't there to protect her. All she did was dare to love me, and I rejected her— claiming she was no better than All-Father. She died with the last thing I did being to tell her she was not my mother."

"I Obliviated my parents and stole their memories of me," Hermione told him quietly. "I wiped away every memory they had of me without asking, saying to myself that it was for the best. I told myself they would just argue that if the world was so dangerous that they needed to be there for me. So, one day, I stole their memories, rewrote their history, and sent them to Australia under different names. I prayed that one day I could go back and beg their forgiveness. After they lived. After the war. After I was sure the danger had finally passed."

Hermione clenched her fingers into a fist. "There was a wanted poster for me— a thousand galleons for turning me as a fugitive Mudblood and an "Undesirable". Allegedly, the official charges were for robbery, conspiracy and illegal spellcasting. I'd robbed a bank vault, you see. It didn't matter that the item was cursed and that the entire world would have fallen if we hadn't destroyed it, no. So, desperate people tracked down my parents, memories or no, and killed them in their zealous desire to torture them to death in hopes of discovering my location. I had protected them from Dark wizards, but not the people I was trying to protect. For nothing. The only ones who cared enough to take me in were the goblins. I paid off my debt and they hired me. Then, they adopted me. They protected me up until I came here— when an Auror tried to—" Hermione trailed off, trembling.

"That is when the Aether found you— " Loki surmised, gently caressing her shoulders in comfort.

"It has been very patient with me, even kind," Hermione admitted softly. "But last night. That was the first time I let go, _really_ let go, and I let it in. We were already bound, but that last step was mine to make. It was only then that I felt whole— with reasons to live all around me. The pikas, the spiders, three plucky dragonets, one Jötunheim beast-puppy, and, most of all, you. I was finally ready to let go of everything I once thought was all I could have in order to discover everything I could _be_."

She stared at her hands, looking at the intricate runic markings. "Going out in public could prove to be an… interesting experience."

"Do they bother you?" Loki asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing a glamour won't fix. I am glad of them because they mean what we have together was not a mere dream. The runes have changed— he is with us both, now. It's incredibly comforting to me that he accepts you too."

Loki covered her hand with his. "I suppose we should go find my brother before I decide better of it and drag you back into bed."

"Loki!"Hermione gasped in the same way someone would follow with "Not in front of the children!"

"We should work on that,"Loki said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Work on what?"

"Children," Loki purred. "You said that in the exact same way that my mother would admonish All-Father for kissing her in front of the children or in public."

Hermione flushed, her markings flashing with a heightened blue-white glow, which seemed to trigger something very primal in Loki. He growled, pressing his body firmly against hers as he rubbed his cheek against her face like a cat.

Hermione shuddered with pleasure, tilting her head to the side in open invitation, and Loki affixed himself to her neck without hesitation. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the couch, laying her down gently as he began to coax the Cloak of Levitation to go float somewhere else.

"Loki," Hermione whinged with a distinct gasp as Loki's lips grazed a particularly sensitive spot. "This is _not_ helping us to find your bother."

"I would far rather find you," Loki growled. "Under. Me."

"Yes, but— _ohhhh_ ," Hermione gasped as he demonstrated his skillful tongue technique on her ear lobe, and her hands instinctively clawed his back as her hips ground insistently upward.

Loki's low chuckle alerted her to imminent mischief just as he said, "You have markings on your ears, lover. Please allow me to… demonstrate."

"Wha-aaa- _ **-AHHHH!"**_ Hermione's piercing cry of pleasure coincided with her pulling him down on top of her. She breathed heavily against his ear as he chuckled throatily, having thoroughly enjoyed her reaction to what he just did to her "Merlin, how did frost giants ever leave their homes?!"

"I think I'm beginning to understand exactly why they were always so cranky whenever we met them on the battlefield." Loki snorted into her ear. He nuzzled her, moving in to find some new place to provide her with the most exquisite torture, but Hermione suddenly stiffened under him and let out a cry of shocked surprise.

Hermione abruptly shoved Loki away, rolled off the couch, and had her wand in her hand as she pointed it up towards the ceiling. Loki instantly swirled into motion, a gesture summoning his body armour from the "coat rack" and it dressed him in seconds. He stood protectively in front of Hermione, despite her protests until she realised he was wearing armour and she was most decidedly not wearing anything but air.

She gave a terrified, embarrassed squeal, and clung to Loki, using his cape as a cover— her bravery dispelled with the realisation of her vulnerable nudity.

"Oh," Loki said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "There you are, brother. What in the Nine Realms are you doing up there?"

Thor, who had been skillfully hogtied and gagged with celestial spider silk and hung in the rafters of the dwelling, could only mumble and make highly expressive eyebrows at his brother.

" _He tried to smash in the door with his hammer,_ " tiny spider voices chimed. " _You were both sleeping, so we took care of it."_

" _With silk!"_

" _Fonn fetched his hammer."_

" _He plays good fetch."_

" _Good puppy."_

"In the rafters?" Hermione whimpered, hiding even as the Cloak rushed over to her and tried its best to cover her nakedness with an artful swaddle.

The spiders seemed to blush.

" _Sorry!"_

" _We didn't want you to trip!"_

" _Tripping is bad!"_

Hermione, who suddenly seemed to remember she was a witch, summoned her clothes and her fury and cut Thor down from the rafters with a slicing hex, or at least she tried to. Her spell didn't affect the silk in the slightest. Hermione glared at the spiders.

" _Eeee!"_

" _Not the look!"_

" _Not_ that _look!"_

" _Getting him down now!"_

The spiders rushed up the walls and began to chew a line through the front of Thor's bindings _._

 _Snap!_

 _ **SNAP!**_

 _Stretch. Stretch. Creeaaaak._

 _ **SNAPSNAPSNAP!**_

Thor tumbled down from the rafters and landed groin first onto the back of the couch.

" _Oops."_

" _Sorry!"_

" _So sorry!"_

Thor gave a pained grunt as he rolled off the couch and fell to the floor behind it, groaning pitifully.

"Ouch, brother," Loki shook his head. "Not one of your ten point falls."

* * *

 **A/N:** End of Part One— Hope you enjoyed it. Happy New Year!

 **Plush Spiders:** Yay!

 **Celestial Spiders:** Double yay!

 **Pikas:** Would you like some eggnog?

 **Fonn:** Grrrrooofff! *guzzle*

 **Dragonets:** awww, we wanted eggnog!

(Helpful spider convention whispering)

 **Spiders:** We'll make more!

 **Dragonets:** yay!

 **Celestial Spiders:** Anyone need a freshly woven blanket?

 **Fonn:** Wrrrrrfff!

(Spider shruggging) Okay!

 **Spider Brigade:** Happy New Year!

 **Beast and Dragonets:** hic!

 **Spiders:** Oh dear, we forgot to withhold the alcohol.

 **Pikas** : chirrrr. (Pikas push Jötunheim beast and dragonets out the doggy door to drunkenly swagger around the plateau)

(Next morning)

 **Hermione:** Loki, love, why does our front yard look like Ragnarök came while we were sleeping?

 **Loki** : It wasn't me.


	2. Evolution of Family

**A/N:** And now the conclusion of, Symbiosis.

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own Marvel. Don't own JKR's stuff. Just playing in the sandbox.

 **Citrus Alert:** Um stuff in here. Somewhere. Bring sugar.

* * *

 **Symbiosis**

 **Chapter 2**

 _Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. - Lao Tzu_

* * *

Thor placed the device carefully down on the middle of the table. "I had no idea, brother. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You wouldn't have believed me."

"I would have—" Thor paused. "You're right. I wouldn't have. I am truly sorry."

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "Exactly _how_ long were you up there?"

Thor flushed a very bright red.

"Oh, _**Merlin!"**_ Hermione moaned. "I'm just going to go bury myself deep somewhere and get lost forever." She moved to get up and do just that, but Loki put his arm around her waist and pulled her back into the chair next to him.

"My love, trust me, there are a great many embarrassing stories of Thor's exploits that make our current situation pale in comparison," Loki said with a very smug smile. "Like him humping his bedpost in a drunken haze while calling out to Sif."

"Well, at least he was alone?"

"Not quite. Unfortunately for my dear brother, his drunken bellows attracted the attention of the royal guard and everyone with the misfortune to have quarters anywhere near—- _ **MMFFFF!"**_

Thor put his large hand over Loki's mouth.

Loki's grinning double leaned on the table. "He was also dressed as a burro."

" _ **AGH!"**_ Thor bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. "I really need a drink for this."

"There is tea—"Hermione said a little dubiously.

"Something that is not twigs in boiling water," Thor answered, wrinkling his nose.

"Technically, hops _is_ a flower—"

Loki shook his head at Hermione mouthing, "Later."

A pika popped onto the table with large, frothy mug of something.

 **Pop!**

It vanished.

Thor drank it down and wiped the foam his mouth. "Far too weak."

Hermione stared at him, and Loki pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

 **Pop!**

Another pika appeared with a bottle of Ogden's 100-Year-Old Special Reserve Firewhisky and vanished.

Thor drank it directly out of the bottle, frowned, and slammed it back down. "Alright. All-Father had the crafterfolk make this thing based off of what held the Tesseract. He wanted it to contain the Aether so it could safely house and store it in Asgard instead of relying on the Collector to keep it safe. He is even more convinced that since the Collector failed to contain it, that it needs to be used _now_."

Thor frowned. "He tasked me to find the Aether and contain it, and while I know it has killed every host it has ever had, save Jane who had it pulled out of her, I feel as though the situation is far more complicated… after hearing you converse about your recent experience with it." Thor flushed, his mind immediately going to certain _other_ things he had witnessed.

Hermione looked decidedly embarrassed, and Loki had a shite-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Did you see anything that you liked, brother?" Loki taunted, immensely enjoying the vivid flush of red that was taking over Thor's face.

"Not to change the subject, but to change the subject… What can be done to convince this All-Father that the Aether is not a threat to him anymore?" Hermione asked.

"You can't," Thor and Loki said together, staring at each other in a rather surreal moment of total solidarity.

"The Aether predates the Realms and it cannot be destroyed," Thor explained. "Before now, however, it destroyed absolutely everything and everyone it touched. It almost killed my Jane if not for Malekith."

"Malekith?" Hermione asked. She frowned, trying to remember. "My memory is still a bit—scrambled."

"Malekith is a Dark elf," Loki said grimly. "That killed our mother."

"Oh!" Hermione looked horrified. "I'm so sorry!"

Loki's fingers brushed hers tenderly. "You've been assimilating a great deal of new information of late. Do not be so hard on yourself, my love."

Thor stared. "Brother, whenever did you become so—understanding?"

"I've always understood, brother," Loki said slowly. "Just not in a way that connected to—the emotion behind it all."

Thor tapped his fingers on the table, thinking hard. "Perhaps, if we get one of our healers to examine you—give you a clean… invoice of health?"

"Bill?" Hermione suggested.

"That," Thor said awkwardly.

Loki frowned. "I do not trust All-Father to keep his hands off of her," he admitted.

"I'm hardly a shrinking violet!" Hermione protested.

Thor and Loki shook their heads. "He is the All-Father. By his merest whim—"

"He both giveth and taketh away," Thor finished grimly.

"I'm a living person, not an object to be given or taken at anyone's whim!" Hermione's hair began to writhe angrily.

" _Eee!"_

" _Tilt!"_

" _Mayday!"_

The celestial spiders clung to her writhing hair, struggling to hide back under it.

Thor sighed. "All-Father sees many races as little more than mere… animals. We are raised from birth to believe we are better, superior, and—"

"Gods," Loki added with a deep sigh.

Hermione slumped and lay her forehead against the table. "And is that what _you_ believe? That humans are just—"

" _ **No!"**_ both Thor and Loki adamantly denied. They stared at each other, unsure of what to make of the other.

Hermione looked up. "Seems you do see eye-to-eye rather more so than you might think." Her hair calmed down, and she braced herself on the table tiredly.

"Hermione?"

Black and red particles surrounded her and took shape into the form of a pale, black-haired wizard. "She is tired. She needs rest."

The "man" lifted her up, cradling her as one would a child to their chest, and carried her to the nearby settee.

"Severus?" Hermione whispered.

"Shh, rest now," the Aether replied, brushing her hair back from her face. "Our bond is strong, but it will take time for you to get used to us as we are now."

"So sleepy," she replied.

"Rest, love," he soothed gently.

Hermione clung to his hand as her eyes closed. He pulled the quilted throw over her and kissed her forehead. As he turned and saw Thor staring at him, the Aether arched one eyebrow at him. "You have questions, Asgardian?"

Thor's mouth worked a little. "And you are?"

The wizard's lips tightened into a thin smile, dark eyes shimmering. "Is it not obvious?"

"I am fairly certain I have not met you before," Thor said, earning him a sharp elbow to the ribs from his younger brother. " _ **Ow!"**_

Loki gave him a very pointed look.

"Wait. The _Aether_?"

Loki just shook his head sadly. "The Midgardians _do_ have this rather apt saying about blond-haired folk."

Thor glared at Loki.

"I am but one aspect of the Aether," the man said, gliding toward the table. "We are now the Aether, together."

" _We_?"

Aether-Severus tilted his head. "Is it not obvious? We are the head, the heart, and the will. Three parts on the same council."

"And which part are you?"

"The leverage," the wizard said calmly. "The monkey-wrench. That in which will is made into power."

"You murdered countless people," Thor accused.

"They could not hold me but for an instant—and for an instant they saw all that had come before. Do you blame the lion who hunts the zebra? Do you blame lightning for where it strikes? Should I blame _you_ for where it does? For all those struck and killed by it? How about those you have crushed under your heel, too small to be noticed by the large footprint of a hulking god?"

"And Malekith?" Thor interjected. "What of him?"

"His hatred gave him walls—walls enough to keep me from his bitter core of energy for a time, but eventually, all walls would have fallen," the Aether replied. I could never give him what he needed. Destroy a hundred worlds and it would still not resurrect his people to glory. It would not give him back the wife and child that he sacrificed to escape. All of those who came before wanted me to fix the emptiness within their lives, but they did not truly want me. They did not simply want to exist in peace with me. They _feared_ me. They desired me—even _your_ woman, Thor. She hungered for a way to be with you. She desired to see what others had lost. She hungered for discovery, and she found me."

"And what made Lady Hermione any different?" Thor asked. "She is also mortal. She had wants and dreams. Why her?"

Loki shot him a dangerous look, but remained silent.

Aether-Severus sighed. "When I met her, her own people had turned against her. A man tried to rape her in front of her adopted people—goblins. And in that moment she did not think of vengeance or justice. She longed for completion—worth—being needed—finding peace. She longed for me and I for her. _That_ is the difference."

"In all the realms, no other longed for you?" Thor asked, clearly rather dubious.

Aether-Severus leveled his gaze at Thor. "Did any female of any race feel as right against your body as your Jane?"

Thor twitched, but he shook off his discomfiture. "But you are also with my brother. If the two of you are complete, how does complete add one?"

"Even a being whole and complete can long for a mate, Thor of Asgard," Aether-Severus said. "Though often, those who are missing something find that thing in others. Who is to say which method leads to a better whole if wholeness is what it results in?"

The Aether looked to Loki and then to Hermione, who was sleeping peacefully on the settee. "We are incomplete no longer. We will not leave in search of other hosts. There is nothing we need but that which we now have. Perhaps, if you tell your father this, it will put his mind at ease?"

"Believe me that _nothing_ puts father at ease but when his commands are obeyed without question," Thor said, staring at the device on the table. "And even then it was only my mother's hand that kept further commands from being piled on top of those."

Thor looked at Loki. "Brother, they think you dead. If you are truly happy, perhaps remaining so out of our father's sight would not be so terrible a thing." Thor stared at the containment unit. "Perhaps, it was best for you to move someplace inhospitable to avoid prying eyes. Heimdall cannot see you here for some reason. Best that it stay that way."

Loki's brows furrowed, but he nodded, seeming to realise that his brother was giving him an out and that something highly significant had changed between them. Thor, too, seemed to realise what he had done with the same bit of wonder.

"Why am I not trying to sleep?" Loki said. "Why am I not as tired?"

The Aether gave a gallant shrug. "Through her aspect, the familiars gain power, feed, and grow. Already she had gained legions—pikas, spiders, dragons, beasts. All of them are connected to us. Her body is the conduit, the channel, the guide. While it does not harm her in any way, she grows tired as her body gets used to being connected at all times."

Aether-Severus ran his hand through his hair. "You are of Asgard, but you are also Jötun. You have channeled that face for years upon years—a glamour that has never once left you until you met _her_. You are already accustomed to having magic bleed from you constantly, so there is nothing new for your body to adjust to. What is but another drain upon your magic when the pool has become nigh endless?"

"They are her familiars," Loki said, frowning. "So, when she dies, they will too?" Loki's face was haunted. Losing his beloved mate would be hard enough. Losing everything that was connected to her as well—would ultimately be worse. Far, far worse. Something Loki was certain he would never recover from, nor would he wish to.

The Aether chuckled warmly. "We cannot _be_ destroyed, Loki, son of Laufey. We exist until the end of all things. We were once broken into countless pieces, but now we are together again. Whole. Did you think I would search eons for my other half only to let her die in the blink of a cosmic eye?" Aether-Severus pulled his robes together across his chest. "We are forever, Loki, son of Laufey. That is what we have always been. Those who share upon our power, share with us this unending span of time. Those such as she had already claimed—they were created to serve, to love, to be eternal once bound to their masters by their own choice. Some beings are far too fragile, losing purpose with endless days, losing life without death to counter it. But these—" The Aether patted one dragonet on the eye ridges, causing it to croon happily. "Imagine how glorious a dragon with the lifespan of eternity would be."

Suddenly, the object on the table began to rattle, and bright beams of light were coming out of it.

"I thought you said you weren't going to _**use**_ it!"

"I didn't _**touch**_ it!" Thor bellowed.

The box burst open, releasing a pulsing, rainbow-hued crystal, and the crystal rose up, spinning faster and faster as a high frequency whine filled the room.

Fonn whined, staggering, trying to cover his ears with his front paws. The dragonets quivered in distress in their heated rookery nest. Celestial spiders fell from the rafters, paralysed—all exactly when a large beam hit the Aether and surrounded it with a glowing blue radiance.

Aether-Severus clutched his head and screamed, breaking into sparkling particles of black and red, slamming into the sides of the trap over and over again.

Hermione screamed, leaping up from the couch, wringing her hair as she tore frantically at her ears, her chest, and her face. Multiple cracks were forming on her ashen skin, all colour leaving her body as she shook spasmodically.

" _ **Hermione!"**_

" _ **Lady Hermione!"**_

Loki and Thor rushed over to her. A terrified Loki caught her up in his arms, frantically touching her face.

Suddenly, Loki, too, spasmed, releasing a bone-chilling scream of agony. He clutched at his head, tearing at his hair. Hairline fractures appeared over his skin as bright blue-white light began to escape.

The trap pulled the Aether in closer, sucking it into its reinforced core. The frost beast pup whined and cried, struggling to rise and ultimately falling. He whimpered piteously and tried to crawl closer to Hermione. The dragonets twitched on their heated nest, their scaled skin going pale as they gasped for air. Celestial spiders rained from the rafters, legs twitching. Terrified pikas ran in blind circles over the floor, having entirely lost the ability to navigate and instead bumped into each other, the furniture, and the walls.

The Aether let out another monstrous scream, both alien and terrifying in its intensity. It sounded like a primordial beast thrashing about in the very muck of Creation. It roared, waves of destructive magic bursting outward in an attempt to defend itself.

" **Hhhrrrrraaaaaaaaaannnnnnaaaa!"**

Black, writhing tentacles of energy lashed outward, randomly bashing anything and everything in its way. Thor went sailing out of the house, taking out the door and the front wall with him. He tumbled out into the snow as Mjölnir bounced a few times and skidded to a halt by his head.

Thor blinked, winced, and sat up, grabbing Mjölnir as he ran back in, giving a mighty yell of pure outrage. " _ **I just got my brother back, you son of a Helheim WHORE!"**_

With all of his considerable strength, Thor cast Mjölnir forward to disrupt the energy tethers and knock back the writing tentacles, caught Mjölnir as it came back to him, and raised it high.

 **BLAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!**

 **Crack.**

 **BLAMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!**

 **Crackle.**

" _ **You will NOT have him!"**_ Thor raged, bringing his hammer down one last time as the lightning came to his call and struck the moment his hammer slammed into the device one last time.

 **ZaBOOOOOM!**

A supernova of searing magical heat blasted outwards as the device shattered into pieces and exploded with a shockingly shrill whine of eldritch field around the Aether fell away, and it zoomed back over to Loki and Hermione, swirling around them in a writhing cocoon of red and black. Thor staggered over, holding his ribs where the wall had tried to impale him while crushing him to death. He pulled Loki into his lap. " _ **Brother!"**_

He gave him a shake. Another. " _ **So help me brother, I didn't find you just to lose you again!"**_

Lighting crackled.

 **CRACK!**

It jolted through Loki's body as Thor punched his chest.

 **Crack!**

He blasted him again. "Brother! You may not listen to me any other time in your life, but you _**will**_ listen to me now! You will _**not**_ die here in the dirt and snow as our father sits on this throne in Asgard drinking his mead and stroking his beard as he taps his missing eye proclaiming all is well. _**BROTHER!"**_

 **Crackle. Crackle.**

As Thor's hand made to come down once more. Loki's pale hand stopped it. "Peace, brother. People will think you actually _care._ "

Thor crushed Loki to his body, a single tear trailing down his bearded face as he wept without shame. "I _hate_ you, brother," Thor whispered, crushing him tighter.

"Can't. Breathe," Hermione whispered, letting out a wheeze as the frost beast pup crawled over to her and whimpered and whined and abased himself all over her. "I know we don't really breathe anymore, but—I'm rather fond of breathing."

Hermione found herself being dragged into the same fervent hug as Loki, as the Thunder God crushed them both to himself in sheer relief.

The pikas scurried about, righting all of the stunned spiders, dusting them off, and setting them in a direction away from the fire. The pikas stared at the missing front wall and door, chirring in unhappiness. Spiders frantically spun silk wind tarps to keep the snow and wind from blowing in. The dragonets huffed hot air on the grateful spiders to keep them from freezing, and Fonn dutifully carried each stone and brick back into its proper place

"I'm alright, brother," Loki wheezed. "You may cease and desist your accosting of my personal space."

"You seemed to not to have need of any such thing this morning, brother."

"With my _**mate!**_ "

"I didn't even know you _**had**_ a mate!"

"I did this morning!"

"How was _**I**_ supposed to know!"

"You could have sent word?"

"By what means? Smoke signals? Set up a lightning rod spelling out 'Yo, brother, 'sup'?"

"..."

"Well, you could have given a letter to Jane!"

"..."

" _ **What?!**_ "

"The last time she saw me, I stabbed you in the chest and she thought I killed you! The time before that, she _**slapped**_ me!"

"Boys, just tell each other you love one another, okay?" Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh. "Thor, tell your brother you love him. Loki, tell your brother you love him too. Smooch. All's better."

Both brothers paled and scrambled out of each other's laps with all due haste.

"Honestly," Hermione bemoaned. "What is it about boys that they can't just fess up to things like that? Fred and George never had this issue. Percy couldn't get along with _any_ one— _ **ugh!**_ "

Hermione narrowed her eyes, taking each "boy" by the neck. "Thor," she said sweetly.

"Yes, Lady Hermione?"

"Tell your brother you love him."

Thor twitched. "I love you, brother."

Hermione turned to Loki, her finger running along his neck markings. "Loki, my love, tell your brother the truth."

Loki shuddered, his eyes rolling back in his head. "I love you, brother."

Hermione perked and smiled. "There you see? Easy!" She gave each of them a peck on the forehead and stood up, moving over to help rebuild the front of the house.

Thor and Loki stared at each other.

"I'm not kissing _**you**_ ," they said together.

"There goes my evening," Aether-Severus said dryly, drifting off to be with Hermione.

Thor and Loki paled together. They stared silently at each other and then did a secret handshake from when they were but boys—princes with dreams of ruling Asgard together. They locked their pinkies together and smiled, and a flash of warm heat flooded between them.

"What just happened? Thor asked.

"Oh, goody," the Aether said as he placed a stone on the front wall. "We have another one."

A swirl of black and red runes ran up Thor's arm, forming a pattern of tattoos on his back.

"What just happened, brother?" Thor asked a little worriedly.

Loki stared at his brother's back "I think you just swore you undying loyalty to me, brother. Would you like a tasty beverage? A cigar, perhaps?"

Thor's eyebrows did all of the talking.

"I'd highly recommend having Jane test those out for you," Loki said innocently. "You might like it."

"Test _what_ out?" Thor asked, trying to turn his head to stare at his back unsuccessfully.

Loki just grinned mischievously and stood up, skipping away to help with the wall.

"Test out _**WHAT**_ , brother?" Thor bellowed, chasing after him.

"I'll never tell!" Loki sing-songed as he put in a window.

* * *

There was a knock at the door just as Thor had downed his twenty-fifth frothy beverage and was starting to spout lewd poetry about Jane's shapely thighs.

"I'll get it!" Thor said, staggering toward the door and ending up opening the closet.

"Damn, it's dark outside," Thor muttered, stepping into the food pantry and rustling around.

 _Jane, I love you, your arse is so fine._

 _I just want to squeeze it,_

 _so you slap me in line._

 _Your breasts are like pillows,_

 _that cradle my head._

 _I would really like to kiss you,_

 _and take you to bed!"_

" _We'll get it!"_ the spiders said, gliding down the strands of silk to open the newly re-created door.

 **Click. Creak.**

The door opened.

"Come on in, Minerva!" Hermione called from the back. "I just made the new guest rooms. You'd think we run a hostel here!"

A female figure walked through the doorway, shivering and covered in snow from head-to-toe. Greying blonde hair hung in long, messy tresses. Tarnished shoulder and breastplates hung over what may have once been glossy, silken cloth. Her cloak, threadbare and tattered, seemed to be made up of more snow than actual cloth, and she let out a soft wheeze even as she took a long, deep breath to gratefully inhale the humid, steamy air inside the comfortable dwelling.

The curious carnivorous orchid purred as she went by, gaining a gentle finger scratch under the petals from the visitor. It rubbed against her fingers appreciatively, but she moved on toward the fireplace.

" _We can take your cloak!"_ the spiders said, perching above the hearth.

The woman said nothing, but shrugged off the tattered cloak and let it drop to the floor. The pikas scurried up and carried it away, the spiders trailing after. Pikas popped in with a large wash basin filled with steaming hot water, towels, warm night-clothes, slippers and a dressing gown.

The woman eyed the nearby dressing screen and slipped behind it, taking time to thoroughly wash herself and slip into the offered clothes. Her pile of remaining tatters disappeared with the pikas and spiders, but she didn't even seem to notice. She sat on the couch in front of the fire, combing her hair as she pulled her dressing gown tightly around herself as though afraid it might disappear. She rubbed her arms habitually, perhaps used to being cold. She smiled when another pair of pikas popped in bearing a tray with a steaming pot of tea, a mug, milk and sugar, and plate of freshly baked biscuits.

" _Would you like some hot soup and bread?"_ a spider asked.

"I would love some, little one," the woman said hoarsely, her voice seemingly unpracticed.

" _Okay!"_ the spider squeaked happily. " _I'll be right back!"_ It scurried off to fetch the soup.

As she was working on the tea and a biscuit, a clutter of spiders arrived with a tray of soup and a sliced loaf of freshly-baked bread.

" _Careful!"_

" _It's hot!"_

" _Piping hot!"_

They skittered off, leaving her to enjoy her meal in peace.

"Gracious," Hermione said as she entered the room. "Putting those dragonets to bed is hard when they know guests are coming. I had to have Fonn sit on them. Sorry about the wait, I had to prepare the guest rooms and put the— _ **OH!"**_

Hermione and the older woman looked at each other with a startled sort of appraisal. "I'm sorry, were you lost out there? I'm so sorry! I hope you helped yourself to the food? Tea? Soup? The lavatory?"

The woman stared at Hermione and smiled. "I expected you to be somewhat taller, more transcendent."

"You know of me?" Hermione squeaked. "From where?"

"Everyone knows of _you_ , my Lady," the woman replied. "It is through you I may be judged to find my home in the afterlife." The woman looked around. "I was, perhaps, expecting more of a throne room."

Hermione snorted. "Thrones are exceedingly uncomfortable and come with a plethora of undesirable baggage, I understand," she said with a smile. "Ah, I see that my industrious friends have mended your clothing."

The spiders returned carrying piles of pristine, shimmering silks and polished armor as well as a warm, fur-lined cloak.

" _Mended the things!"_

" _Not too hard!"_

" _The metal was hard."_

" _Polished it though!"_

" _Pretty!"_

The spiders scurried off to tend to other matters.

Hermione eyed the pile of armour-like clothing and smiled. "You must have come quite a long way."

"I felt like I had been walking forever. Dark and cold. Light and cold. Rain and snow. There was no end. No goal. I thought myself truly damned with no honourable death to guide me here." The woman wrung her hands and sighed deeply.

Hermione touched her hand warmly. "Please tell me your name, that I may honour you by calling you by it?"

The woman looked up at her somewhat desperately. "I have not heard my own name in forever. Might I enjoy this fire a while before you send me away?"

"I will not send you away," Hermione assured her guest. "You may stay as long as you need, but please, tell me your name."

The woman touched Hermione's hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she ran them over her markings. "You are truly _her_ , My Lady Hel. Please, do not judge me harshly. I loved your dear father as my own son."

Hermione's face crinkled in clear confusion. "Be at peace. I do not think I am who you believe me to be. Please tell me what these markings mean to you."

The woman pet them reverently. "They are the markings of my beloved younger son, who languishes in the prison of my lord and husband, Odin."

" _Frigga,"_ Hermione whispered, her eyes going very wide. "You are Lady Frigga."

"Frigga?" the woman repeated slowly. "Frigga. Yes. I think—It _feels_ like my name."

Hermione held the woman's hands in hers and squeezed them comfortingly. "I will be right back. Please, do not fear. Enjoy the fire. I will not drive you from it."

Frigga nodded, biting her lip, but she pulled the nearby blanket over herself for more warmth. Hermione moved her hand over the blanket, and the blanket instantly warmed to the touch. Frigga looked up at her with wonder in her bright blue eyes. "I used to use that spell to warm the blankets for my sons."

Hermione smiled kindly. "It is a good spell. It is a mother's spell."

Hermione walked out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

"Lady Hermione!" Thor greeted as he breathed alcohol in her face.

Loki grabbed him right before he started feeling up his mate. "Thor, you're such an uncouth barbarian."

"She had very round breasts," Thor slurred. "But Jane's are ffffffffluffier."

"Are you sure you want him here for this news?" Loki asked. "I would far rather punch him and have this discussion in the morning while he's nursing a truly epic hangover."

Hermione turned her head and wrinkled her nose as Thor breathed drunkenly in her face. "Trust me, you _both_ need to hear this news. It might even work as a fast-acting sobering potion on your brother."

"Sif's abs are glorious, but her breasts. Are. Flat," Thor said decisively.

"And she will most assuredly punch you in the face as she kicks you between the legs, brother," Loki reminded him archly.

"Your mother, Frigga, is out there in our living room," Hermione quickly interrupted them.

Thor's eyebrows started working as he chewed through his intoxication. " _ **What?"**_

He looked to Loki, but Loki was already gone. Thor staggered down the hallway, barely missing a clutter of spiders and an orange-spotted pika that were trying desperately not to be crushed underfoot.

Hermione stared at the ceiling and sighed. "That went well."

* * *

Hermione felt Loki slip into the bed with her sometime past the Witching Hour. His face pressed into her warm neck as his chest spooned against her back, mating their markings with a rush of magical warmth and pleasure.

"Thank you for giving us time alone to tell her what was going on, my love," he said quietly.

Hermione wove her fingers with his. "It was nothing. I know how much she meant— _means_ to you."

"Thor is still out there, talking to her," Loki murmured into her hair. "We both felt guilty about her death, but none more than my brother. We blamed ourselves. We blamed each other. My brother brought Jane to Asgard, and it was our mother who protected her. He blamed himself for bringing Jane in the first place and thus causing the death of our mother. We both hated ourselves for her death."

"How is she even alive?" Hermione boggled.

"That will be a mystery for the morning, my love," Loki said, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her neck. "I prepared the guest room, well, one of them, for her. I remembered exactly how mother likes her things, and I figured it would be easier for her to adapt if she had some things that were familiar to her."

"That was very kind of you," Hermione replied.

Loki growled softly, snuffling her hair. "Bother."

"Hrm?"

"I cannot make love to my mate with my mother resting nearby and my brother drunkenly professing his love of pillowy breasts to my mother as he apologises for his guilt in the same breath."

Hermione snorted in amusement.

"What?"

"That is why I placed a permanent silencing charm on this room, lover," she mused. "But feel free to think yourself unable to- _ **MMFFFFS! OH MERLIN!"**_

Hermione spasmed wildly as Loki proceeded to enthusiastically demonstrate all that he had learned about their markings since last they had coupled.

Outside the room, Fonn circled around three times in front of the door and flopped down, using a fluffy pika for a pillow. The pikas surrounded him, piling on top and around him for warmth. The Jötunheim beast yawned widely with a whine and lay his head down to sleep, content that his mistress and master were very happy indeed.

* * *

Loki's arm curled around empty air, and he gave a soft mutter of disappointment as he sat up from the bed and realised he had been abandoned. He pouted slightly before realising it was somewhat surreal to be more concerned about losing time cuddling with his mate than, well, he heard women's voices drifting down from the hall, and he vaguely remembered something about someone named Minerva stopping in to visit for the holidays.

And your mother being alive, a voice in his mind prodded.

Right— _that_.

He habitually checked his abdomen for his most recent wound, but it had completely healed. He felt his skin over, and it was smooth, albeit cobalt, but completely flawless. There were no signs of being literally torn to pieces the previous night by his father's inglorious trap.

Suddenly hit with the epiphany that he had talked with his mother half the night without realising he was in his jötunn form, he paused. Was it truly possible that he could be accepted in both of his forms?

The pikas had left him clean clothes—comfortable, silken garments woven by the resident eight-legged weavers, and he slipped them on with few rustles. He found some slippers by the bed and put them on, taking a moment to wash up in the bathroom and tame his Hermione-rustled hair. He'd have left it as evidence of his pleasure, but his mother was probably out there. He definitely didn't mind freaking out Thor, but his mother deserved a little more respectful treatment.

Deciding to choose cautious over bold, he willed himself into face of the prince of Asgard, tilting his head in appraisal as he stared at the complexion that he should have been far more used to. Oddly, he found that he felt strangely naked without his markings, and boggled on how he had come to cherish them—not just for the pleasure they brought but for the shared bond he had with Hermione.

His _mate_.

Cricking his neck, he braved the hallway, almost tripping over Fonn, who was still guarding the door. Fonn whine-yawned at him, lazily wagging his tail. Loki pet his ears and tutted. "Silly thing, shouldn't you be out there with her?"

Fonn gave him a look that seemed to translate as "Hrmph." He got up and walked down the hall into the living room. Loki followed, somewhat nervous as to what he would find. Females in Asgard were remarkably dangerous creatures. Groups of females in Asgard were the sharp blades of well-honed weapons given purpose. They were _not_ to be trifled with.

To his surprise, the women were all lounging in the hot spring up to their necks. The springs had a wondrously thick froth of steam that burbled like a magical brew.

"Ah, there's the lad," Minerva called, spotting him.

"Come join us," Frigga said, gesturing to the hot spring.

Loki fidgeted nervously, feeling like a young boy of twelve having accidentally wandered into the women's bath springs.

"Don't be shy, laddie," Minerva snorted. "I've seen all manner of undress from boys to men in my day, and while it remains to be seen if you are any prettier, unless you are sporting two rods instead of one, there is nothing I haven't seen before.

Loki blinked.

" _ **Minerva!"**_ Hermione laughed.

"I'm old, not dead!" Minerva replied with a wink. "Besides, I know a 'look but don't touch' policy when I see one.

Frigga laughed into her wrist and turned her head away just enough to give Loki leave to disrobe without his mother seeing him.

He quickly did and slipped under the water in a flash, making sure most of himself was covered by the thick steam and churning water.

"This one is far braver than your other boy, Frigga," Minerva observed. "The other just turned red and fled out the front door."

Frigga just shrugged. "Thor has always been very sensitive in ways we never expected."

Loki took his time to slither in behind Hermione and move her onto his lap, one to feel her against himself and two to shield himself from the scrutiny of two elder women—one of which was his mother.

"We have a bath springs in Asgard, but this feels so much better, somehow," Frigga said, eyes half-closing in pleasure. "I am sorry to admit that I don't quite look forward to returning there."

"No one says you have to go there," Hermione assured her. "I meant what I said about you being able to stay until you felt ready." Hermione tilted her head to lean back on Loki. "We could make you a guest house and share the plateau. The pikas would adore having more things and people to tend and squirrel away."

Frigga's face immediately lit up. "You really mean that, don't you?"

Hermione smiled. "I do not say what I do not mean."

"Unless it is unintentional," Loki murmured into her ear. "Like accidentally feeling me up."

Hermione flushed bright crimson and elbowed Loki in the chest.

"Oof! Woman, what was _that_ for?"

Hermione glared at him.

"Somehow she doesn't strike me as the kind of lass to be like Trelawney, who would throw herself at Severus every morning and grope his arse at the Head Table," Minerva said, tutting. "Embarrassing woman."

"Nay, nothing like that," Loki said, dodging another elbow to the ribs. "Enough, woman! Have I not pleasured you?"

" _ **Loki!"**_ Hermione hissed, flushing brightly.

Frigga laughed loudly. "Oh, my son. How it pleases me to hear you again—to see you so very happy with someone."

Hermione tried in vain to swim away, but Loki ensnared her, pressing his body to hers as his cheek pressed against hers and she wilted in his embrace as he pulled her back to the side of the hot spring once more. Hermione mumbled something about cheaters as Loki pressed his lips to her temple in a light kiss.

Minerva chuckled. "I am so glad to see you happy, lassie," she said not unkindly. "It has always saddened me that you were unable to find the peace you so needed after the war.

Hermione tried to will herself into a less flushing complexion. "It is, was, entirely unexpected. As long as I stay off the radar of the Aurors and British wizards. I hope it stays that way."

Minerva scowled. "They tried their best to find you, lassie, but there were some of us who didn't stand for it. They even tried to pressure the Bulgarians into revealing your location. Unsuccessfully, I might add. Thankfully, their Ministry merely laughed in their faces. The Truth Plague took care of the rest."

"Truth Plague?" Hermione perked with curiosity.

Minerva smiled. "Seems as though those Aurors who found you there in Gringotts somehow acquired a bit of an interesting 'disease'. Everyone who came into contact with them, including the Aurors themselves, started spouting truths of every kind like the last Catholic confessional given before death. My mam used to say that sort of thing only happened when you truly feared God's judgement before dying. Anyway, anyone who came into contact with the Aurors got it, and so on, and so forth until the whole of Britain was spewing the whole unvarnished truth like a severe case of verbal dragon pox. Can't say I didn't enjoy that at Hogwarts, lassie. Thank you for that."

"Oh, _**no!**_ The _**teachers!**_ " Hermione cried, wringing her hair with her hands.

"Nay, lass, don't be worryin' your head about that," Minerva comforted her. "We figured out the cure easy enough."

"How do you cure a Truth Plague?" a very interested Frigga asked, "and does someone still have it because I have a few people I'd dearly _love_ to introduce it to."

" _ **Mother!"**_ Loki gasped.

Frigga gave him a serene smile, and suddenly Hermione realised where a lot of Loki's mischief had come from—and it hadn't been born in a vacuum.

Minerva laughed genuinely. "True remorse," she said. "Most of the teachers shook that plague off every morning when we saw the scars of war in the only recently repaired halls of Hogwarts. All of us—truly wished we could have done more, much sooner, before so many good people were sadly lost. Mind you," Minerva said, sporting her own look of pure mischief in her eyes, "that didn't mean we had to tell any others what it was. We _needed_ a little truth from those who were self-serving enough to not to regret anything they did."

Hermione tried to drown herself in the hot springs, but Loki pulled her up.

"Hrrr," Loki rumbled. "I would prefer it if my mate did not do herself in after all we have survived to get here."

Fonn mrrr-growled in agreement. "Hrrroowwl!"

Hermione mumbled something about traitors and tried to submerge herself again.

Loki surreptitiously slid his hand across his mate's markings pulling her against him, his eyes staring into hers with unveiled affection.

Frigga looked to Minerva. "Did I tell you the story about when Loki and Thor tried to bake me a cake for my birthday?"

"No, do tell," Minerva encouraged, smiling.

"They didn't exactly follow a recipe, only imitated the royal cooks and watched what they did. The chocolate powder was, of course, surprisingly like dirt. The white flour was stolen from my powders bottle. It was white and, um, remarkably flowery. To be fair, it looked quite glorious when presented, but the taste—Odin made quite a fuss about preserving their efforts for posterity, just as it was. So it sits to this day, on a very golden pedestal in a place where many treasures have been preserved for generations of Asgardians to enjoy."

" _ **MOTHER!"**_ Loki hissed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my son," Frigga said sweetly. "Would you like to add a personalised touch to this conversation?"

Loki muttered something about the freezing fires of Jötunheim.

Hermione's grin widened from ear-to-ear. She escaped from Loki's embarrassed embrace and shuffled closer to Frigga and Minerva. Loki seemed rooted to the spot by some invisible, unspoken barrier, and he wasn't pleased about it. Not at all. He crossed his arms in a pout. Tilting his chin up, lip quivering slightly, he slowly walked out of the hot spring, dripping, not even bothering to cover up his nakedness. "I'm going to go take a shower. Alone. Away from you chattering hens," he said coolly, stalking indignantly out of the springs to the master bathroom.

"No shame whatsoever, that one," Minerva said, raising an eyebrow.

"He never has," Frigga said fondly. "Both he and Thor used to run around the palace naked with the royal guards chasing them in an attempt to catch and diaper them."

Both elder women looked to where Hermione had been and noticed the space was distinctively missing one curly-haired witch.

Frigga and Minerva exchanged knowing glances, slapping their hands together in a high-five.

"Excellent," Minerva said, grinning.

"I wonder who will give me new grandbabies first," Frigga mused. "Thor or Loki."

"I don't know about you two," a pale Aether-Severus said as he flipped a page in a book as he sat reading in the hot spring, "but I'm wondering what the children in question will look like."

Both elder women flushed crimson.

" _ **SEVERUS?!"**_ Minerva exclaimed.

Aether-Severus shook his head. "Nay, I am not he," the Aether said. "This is the face of the one she trusted most in the world—how I chose to look when I first approached her. At first, it was merely to communicate, but now—I choose this form because it honours her memory of him. Does this form displease you?"

Minerva's face was saddened. "No. No, I am glad to know that our dear friend continues to live on in some way. I knew they were very close. They were both outcasts. They both did so much for our world but their contributions went ignored and unappreciated by far too many. And when Albus' portrait finally coughed up the truth about Severus—it was all suppressed by lesser beings who hatefully refused to give him his due, even in death."

Frigga frowned. "My Loki was not perfect, but he was shaped into what he was, molded from infancy to be a king, and then he was denied it all—not by a fair contest or some well-established rite of age and honour, no. He was denied because we was not the child of my husband's loins, but he was the child of my heart in all things." Frigga gave a tortured grimace.

"But you never told him," Minerva surmised.

Frigga closed her eyes in pain. "My husband forbade me to speak of it. He was to be our son in all ways. But while I bonded to him tightly, Odin could never find it within himself to connect with Loki. Thor was outspoken, brash, and good with weapons. Loki was sensitive, subtle, attuned to magic. While Odin molded Thor, I taught Loki. Thor learned to subtly wield the power of strength. Loki, I taught magic and deception—avoiding the punch rather than throwing it. Up until the last century or so, Loki was a very good son. He obeyed. He honoured. He did everything that was asked of him, and then one day, while saving Thor from his own brashness, Loki found out what he really was: Jötunn. A frost giant. It didn't really settle in until he touched the Casket of Eternal Winters and was not frozen by it. Odin, my husband, confessed to him that he had saved Loki upon finding him as an abandoned infant—in the hopes that one day if it became needed, Loki could be…"

Frigga looked at Minerva with a tortured expression. "Used as leverage against the frost giants. He had adopted him to seal the truce of peace between our peoples… by force."

Minerva's brow crinkled. "I can't even begin to say I understand all of that, but I know what it is like to be under the thumb of someone else who thinks they know what's best for everyone, and my biggest regret—one I continue to live with daily—is that I never stood up for what I believed in when I finally started to doubt."

"That was why you were immune to the truth curse," Frigga said.

Minerva nodded. "I regret a great many things. I feel true remorse for many of them."

"So, does that mean that I, too, have true remorse?" Frigga asked. "Here I sit with you, sharing common truths not by compulsion but need, but I feel considerably better for it."

"You'll always be a welcome visitor to me, Frigga," Minerva said warmly. "I promise ye that."

Frigga took Minerva's hand and smiled as she squeezed the witch's hand tightly. "I am glad of it."

"I can teach ye my family shortbread recipe while the couple is making your next grandchild, aye?" Minerva said with a wink.

Frigga grinned from ear-to-ear. "You are on, my Lady Minerva."

"My guess is four batches by the time they are done," Minerva speculated.

Frigga pondered a moment. "Six."

Minerva gasped. " _ **Lady Frigga!"**_

"I know my sons," Frigga said with a wink. "And Loki has a lot of attachment issues to work out."

"They'll be working on those until the sun goes down if you let them," Minerva said, chuckling.

Frigga smiled. "As long as there are more grandbabies."

"From the sound of things, I'm going to have to build on to Hogwarts for their children alone." Minerva shook her head.

Minerva and Frigga glided out of the hot spring and left the steaming water for the lure of the kitchen.

Aether-Severus flipped another page in the novel he was reading. "Females," he sniffed.

* * *

"What do you _**mean**_ our equipment doesn't work in New Mexico?!" Fury demanded, slamming his fist down on the table.

"Severe electrical storm, boss," Starke said as he tinkered with a glove that mimicked his movements.

"Over the entire fucking state?" Fury demanded.

"Can't really go and look, man," Tony said. "I go there and I get electrocuted. Bad things happen. Jarvis could be corrupted. I can't risk that. You're more than welcome to try it yourself, though, long as you don't mind the risk of becoming a french fry."

"I thought Jarvis bonded and became that AI—"

"That was Jarvis 1.0."

Fury glared.

"What? I missed him, so I made his baby brother, but he's still just a baby. He's impressionable."

"Oh and you as a role model is probably really helping his growth," Steve said, polishing his shield.

"Stuff it, Mr Patriotism," Tony said. "If you were in charge, he'd be trying to save the world in his underwear."

Steve glared darkly at Tony.

"Both of you, stuff it," Fury growled. "Can someone get ahold of Thor? He controls lightning, right?"

"And our telling gods what to do has always worked out well before?" Tony cracked. "Besides, you sent him after Loki to 'deal with that situation'."

" _Was_ it dealt with?" Steve asked, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumbs.

"We don't know," Fury muttered.

"Never a good sign," Tony said.

Fury rolled his eye. "He said that Loki wasn't going to bother anyone again unless we did something unimaginably stupid."

"Where do we start?" Tony asked. "He _does_ have a soft spot for that 'He's my baby brother' thing. Loki is an arrogant god and the would-be king of everyone. Thor may not realise it, but Loki isn't exactly playing with a full deck, not that any of the gods are."

Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I realise that I'm just the guy who makes science and turns green when I'm pissed off, but do you _really_ want to mess with the affairs of gods, Asgardian or otherwise? Just last week you had your collective asses handed to you by a bunch of people wearing bathrobes and brandishing branches."

Fury glared at Banner.

"What?" Bruce said, shrugging. "I read the debriefings. You think you can just throw them on the board and everyone then ignores them?"

"The Aether is still out there," Fury said.

"And Thor told you it was contained," Bruce pointed out. "End of story. He may have some fashion issues, but he doesn't _lie_."

Tony made a very rude gesture with his mechanical floating hand. Then it floated over to Fury and got right up in his face.

"We could always send you to deal with him," Fury suggested. "You handled him well enough before."

"Hulk handled him before," Bruce corrected. "Man-handled him into the concrete, more like. He didn't exactly arrest him. I have no intention of going anywhere near Loki Laufeyson if I can help it. If Thor tells me he has been dealt with, then I, for one, believe him."

"We need to stop these storms over New Mexico," Fury rage. "Get some people in rubber suits to go, call in freaking Batman if you have to, but get someone there that can tell me what the HELL is going on out there!"

Fury threw up his hands and stormed out of the room.

Natasha calmly filed her nails, having been silent the entire time. "I have a friend that might be able to fly in and help."

"Electrical storm? That'll be quick."

"She's good about weather."

"She look good in rubber?"

"She looks good in skin-tight uniforms."

"Okay, I'll bite. Who?"

"Ororo Munroe."

"Bless you. Who is she?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You might know her better as Storm."

* * *

"Damnit, Thor, I'm pregnant, not an invalid!" Jane screeched as Thor carried her over to the outside table and carefully placed her in a chair.

Loki was standing on Fonn's back as he set a large window in place. The frost beast pup had grown quickly thanks to Hermione's tending, and he was now large enough to ride like a pony and be used as a living step stool. Fonn tail wagged happily, careful not to take out the wall.

Pikas squeaked random commentary as the celestial spiders wove insulation and curtains. The dragonets heat-sealed the stone in place with super-heated cement. Frigga looked on with pride as Fonn would run off occasionally and come back with large trees. Hermione would shave them down into ornate pillars and plant them around the forming house.

" _Could we attach lights?"_ one of the spiders squeaked.

" _String lights!"_

" _Pillar-to-pillar,"_ another said. " _Pretty."_

Frigga smiled. "I trust you. Go ahead, my friends."

" _Yay!"_ the spiders cheered, scuttling off to do their own planning.

" _We can make them tangle up unwanted guests,_ " one spider speculated.

" _Oooo, good idea!"_

" _Pretty and functional!"_

Thor winced. "Really, mother, must you encourage them?"

"They're quite sweet, my son," Frigga said. "I'm not sure why you can't get along."

"He just remembers that those tiny little weaving spiders kicked his arse and left him hanging from the rafters like a prize ham," Loki said as he swept a flagging Hermione off her feet. "Enough magic for now, my love." He pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead, the markings on her head glowing softly in response.

Hermione touched his face gently and smiled, allowing him to set her down in a chair as he poured her lemonade and handed it to her, freezing the bottom half of the glass so it would be cold.

Hermione chuckled, her touch lingering on his cobalt skin.

" _You!"_ Jane huffed. "It's all because of you Thor gets away with thinking he can smother me with concern!"

Hermione blinked. "I don't always remember to take care of myself," she said quietly. "Loki remembers, even when I do not."

Jane sputtered, trying to come up with some retort, but coming up empty, let out a defeated sigh. "Being pregnant does not mean sitting around doing nothing all the time," she complained.

" _Biscuit?"_ a spider asked, waving a Scottish shortbread finger at Jane.

" _Eeeeeee!"_ Jane cried, practically falling over.

The spider wilted dejectedly. " _I'll go then."_

"I—no, I mean—shit," Jane sputtered, catching her breath. "I'm sorry, please, don't go. I'm just not used to… sentient spiders. I mean, I know you exist, obviously, but I—" Jane held out her hand in invitation. "Please don't go."

The spider carefully crawled onto her hand, biscuit in tow.

Jane took the proffered biscuit and gently rubbed under the spider's head. "I'm sorry, little guy. Forgive me?"

The spider cooed at her. " _I forgive."_

Jane transferred the spider to her shoulder, and the spider crooned happily.

"They mean well," Hermione said cheerfully. "They simply forget that most people have an instinctive reaction to them that doesn't necessarily involve pets and hugs."

" _We like pets and hugs!"_ the spiders squeaked as they scurried by, carrying Mjölnir to Thor. Thor picked up Mjölnir and used it to hammer the pillars in place. Thor gave the spiders a lift to the top of the pillar and let them set about their decorating.

"My husband would be beside himself watching arachnids carry around Mjölnir like it was nothing."

Jane looked at Hermione. "You're further a long than me, but you're carving house pillars." She pouted, looking rather disgruntled.

"I'm not exactly carving them with my teeth, Jane," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, I wasn't causing two months of severe electrical storms over New Mexico."

Jane flushed a bright red at that, sinking down into her chair as she sipped her lemonade.

"So, tell me, brother," Loki said smoothly as he set the window in place and sealed it in. "How are you liking the new markings?"

Thor dropped Mjölnir and stared wide-eyed at his little brother. "You ensorcelled me?"

"No, brother," Loki chuckled. "You did it to yourself. Why? Would you wish me to take them back?"

" _ **NO!"**_ Jane yelled and then quickly hid her flushed face behind her drink.

Hermione laughed out loud as Thor's own face turned the colour of his cape. He summoned Mjölnir back to his hand and drove more posts in.

Loki came back to Hermione and shared some of the lemonade from her perfectly frosted glass. He grinned smugly as he very deliberately, and only in eyeshot of Jane, flicked his tongue across the back of Hermione's hand as he brought it to his lips.

Jane practically fell out of her chair from the suggestion alone.

" _ **Loki!"**_ Hermione hissed at him. She grabbed him by the ears and pressed her lips to his forehead and licked him slowly. "Go finish your mother's new house."

Loki shuddered and looked at her with pouting disappointment.

"Your wife is pregnant!" Thor growled at Loki. "Don't you _**ever**_ stop?"

Loki blinked and stared back at him. "You _**do**_? I'll have you know your own wife is also laden with the seeds of your two month rutt."

Mjölnir went zinging by Loki's head and stopped inches from Hermione's.

Hermione grabbed Mjolnir and placed it in her lap. "No hammer for you, Thor Odinson."

Frigga laughed as Loki and Thor went tumbling off the frame of the house, trying to beat each other into a pulp with equal enthusiasm. "My boys, don't ever change."

Jane stared at Hermione. "You look awfully good for someone who was almost brained by a gigantic flying hammer."

"Hrm?" Hermione said, turning back to Jane. "Oh? Mjölnir? We have an understanding of sorts. He doesn't hit me in the face, and I don't let Fonn bury him in the backyard."

Jane blinked. "Alrighty then."

"It's kind of like the agreement you have with Darcy. You don't see her snogging with her assistant and you don't have to punch them."

Jane blushed. "You _know_ about that?"

Hermione smiled as the clutter of spiders nearby zoomed off quickly, leaving the one carrying a small bucket alone and looking quite guilty. Again.

"Not many secrets here," Hermione said, scooping Bucket up and allowing him to hide in her hair.

Jane chuckled. "Why does that one have a bucket?"

Hermione shrugged. "He's the wake up spider. If you ever need your ego to be let out a bit, he's your spider."

"No wonder Thor doesn't get along with them," Jane giggled.

There was a crackling in the air, and Hermione frowned. Jane looked up fearfully, and Frigga looked immediately concerned.

"Into the house, ladies," she said. "We do not want to be out here if someone is gating in via the Bifrost."

"Gating?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Bifröst?"

Frigga insistently pushed her along. "Talk later. Inside now."

"Wait, but shouldn't we warn—"

"They know what that sound means," Frigga said absently, herding them alone. "Hurry now, love. Inside."

Hermione looked torn, but she yielded to Frigga with some distress even as Jane took her hand and ran inside, dragging her along with all due haste. Pikas scurried in the door with a stream of spiders before the door closed, and Fonn dropped the tree he was hauling to bound down the plateau towards where Loki and Thor were "having a brotherly discussion."

* * *

"You ensorcelled me!" Thor bellowed loudly.

 **PUNCH!**

"Not intentionally!" Loki blasted Thor off him with his magic, slamming him into a startled-looking Tibetan blue bear. The bear made a groaning noise and tore off the plateau as fast as its clawed paws could carry him.

"So you throw me into endangered Midgardian wildlife?" Thor yelled, making to throw Mjölnir and suddenly realising his hammer was off in Lady Hermione's lap somewhere. " _ **AGHHH!"**_ he yelled, storming back up the hill to take on Loki with his bare hands.

"How do you even _**know**_ it's endangered!" Loki yelled. "You can't even remember which side of the world California is on!"

"I'm getting better!" Thor retorted, grabbing Loki by the collar and sliding him across the moss. "It's the south side!"

Loki pulled himself up, throwing random debris at Thor with his magic and his multiple doubles. "How did you even figure out how to _**find**_ Jane? Did you have to stop for directions?"

"I _**always**_ know where Jane is!" Thor yelled.

"Only because she's usually _**screaming**_ at you!" Loki yelled back.

"If she's screaming, it is because I _**pleased**_ her!" Thor roared.

"Pleased? _**PLEASED?**_ " Loki cackled. "Was she pleased when you stepped on her toe? Pleased when you almost dropped a _**car**_ on her?"

"That was a special case," Thor replied airily, tossing Loki into a rather stunning patch of wildflowers.

"You're a 'special case', alright," Loki scoffed. "Got brained by our father trying to make you into a man one too many times."

"At least I could wield a _**sword**_ like a man!" Thor roared.

"So does Sif," Loki mocked. "Do you admire _**her**_ balls?"

" _ **What?!"**_

"Who wears the trousers in your relationship?" Loki taunted, wiggling his eyebrows.

" _ **Just because Sif has flat breasts does not make her a man!"**_ Thor yelled, backhanding Loki to the face, and his brother's cackling double disappeared in a blink.

A blast of eldritch energy knocked Thor arse over teakettle into the half-eaten carcass of a yak.

"Just admit it, brother," Loki sneered. "You _**like**_ what you unintentionally gave yourself. You just don't want to admit that your freak little brother actually gave you something beyond amazing, even unintentionally."

"How could you keep something like _**that**_ a secret!" Thor yelled, throwing a rib at his brother.

"I didn't even _**KNOW**_ what they could do until Lady Hermione accidentally 'felt me up'!"

"What do you _**mean**_ you didn't—wait, Lady Hermione felt you up?" A boyish grin crept across Thor's face.

Loki crossed his arms across his chest and huffed, "You will tell no one."

"She _**FELT YOU UP?**_ " Thor repeated, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Yes, yes, she touched my facial markings, just as your Jane fondled your back for _**two months straight!**_ " Loki hissed.

"My brother, laid low by a woman merely touching his face?"

"At least I get to face _**my**_ lover when she does it!"

"Are you saying my Jane cannot touch my back from my front? What are you implying?!" Thor took a swing through another insubstantial duplicate.

"I'm saying you're like a bull vremuck running amok in a pottery shoppe," Loki said with a curl of his lip. "All destructive rampage and no brain."

" _ **ARGH!"**_ Thor roared, picking up a log and swinging it. It went through all of the duplicates and hit Loki in the chest, throwing him against the side of the outcropping, where he fell to the ground with a startled wheeze.

Loki started to laugh, still wheezing, and a chuckling Thor put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"There you are, traitor," Sif snarled viciously as she lifted him up by the collar, and Volstagg punched him right to the face as Hogun gave him a punch to the kidneys. Fandral took the pommel of his sword and drove it right between Loki's legs.

Loki's eyes crossed and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

A baleful howl came from above them, and a half-grown Jötunheim frost beast snarled furiously. He leapt at his master's attackers from the higher ground as Sif's sword and shield changed into a bladed staff, and she braced herself for the imminent impact.

Volstagg's weapon slammed into the beast from the side, altering the trajectory just enough for the bladed staff to deflect off the beast's ribcage. The beast bellowed in pain, a rush of blue and black blood beginning to paint the ground.

"We got you, Thor," Hogun said, dragging Thor away.

" _ **No! Stop!"**_ Thor yelled. " _ **Don't attack!"**_

Fonn instantly halted his attack to look back at Thor.

 **SMASH!**

 _ **YIP!**_

Fonn went tumbling down the hill as Volstagg's weapon hit him upside the head and sent the beast careening out-of-control.

" _ **NO!"**_ Thor screamed, reaching out his hand, and Mjölnir was suddenly in it, having streaked a cloud to his hand. It smacked into his waiting hand, and he threw it, smashing into Volstagg's weapon hand. He threw it again, Sif's bladed staff knocked away from her grasp. " _ **I said STOP!"**_ Thor roared.

Fandral was standing over the fallen body of Fonn, lifting his sword up high to drive it down through Fonn's heart. Thor flung Mjölnir toward him, screaming.

The dragonets pounced on him, breathing jets of flame into his face as they tore into his armor with their claws. Fandral yelled, slamming the pommel into one dragonet's face with a loud **crack.** The dragonet tumbled off, still, and the other dragonets nosed their comrade with their snouts, letting out a terrible, keening cry.

 **Crackle, crackle. CRACK!**

Red and black tendrils of aethereal magic formed in the air, sucking in all the light and plunging the area into an artificial night. Vapour or liquid, neither seemed to fit as the wisps of dark matter swirled like a thing alive.

" _ **The Aether!"**_ Sif yelled. She pulled a device off her belt and threw it.

A figure stepped out of the swirling dark matter, forming into the body of a woman. Her hand caught the device and crushed it, sending the device into dust.

"Once, your ridiculous device may have worked on me," the figure said, the voice overlaid with three layers of tone. "But that time is no longer."

The matter coagulated as a pale, beautiful woman stepped out from the darkness, her wild, curly hair tamed only by a silver headdress. Silver, glistening horns sprouted up from that mane of hair, twisting and curving into distinctive dragon-horns. Her robes swirled around her in gossamer silver and green. Fine lines of scales ran along her brow and across every bit of skin. Her eyes were the pits of the Void that contained the depths of space, only two golden slits that glowed like suns hovered within. Serpents wrapped around her arms like gauntlets, moving up her hand to curve delicately around her fingers like rings. As she floated out, her feet seemingly walking on air, the deep crimson and gold Cloak of Levitation billowed behind her. She landed by the fallen beast and the dragonet, her hand reaching out to touch them. Black and red particles swirled around them and into the wounds, and the beast and dragonet took in deep breaths and healed. The beasts crooned at her, and she kissed each one on the head.

"Home now, my loves," she told them.

They thrummed at her, protesting.

"Go on," she commanded gently.

The young frost beast promptly tore back up the plateau, the dragonets following in hot pursuit.

"Who _**are**_ you?" Fandral demanded. He held out his sword, but it began to glow and grew scalding hot to the touch, forcing him let go of it with a bellowing yelp of pain.

"I am Lady Dragonheart, defender of the Goblin Nation, Mistress of Scale and Fang, Defender of the beasts—and you are are but invaders to my domain, unbidden and unwelcome. She bared her teeth, showing off shining, goblin-like teeth. You have brought violence to my home. You have drawn blood on my garden. You harm that which is sacred to me. Even now, your unreasoning hatred blinds you to the truth before your very eyes.

Dragonheart growled, tendrils of dark matter curling around Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun. They began tightening around them like the coils of the Miðgarðr serpent, Jörmungandr. There was the sound of a great beast bellowing in the darkness of Creation—perhaps the echoing cry of the _real_ Jörmungandr somewhere out in the world.

"Tell me why I should spare your unworthy lives," she growled, "when you do not spare that of others. You show no pity. You give no compassion. You are deaf to the cries of your own comrade yelling at you to stop."

The coils around them choked off their ability to breathe.

"What was that?" She leaned in, listening.

The coils tightened again. Armour crushed. Bones cracked.

"No," Loki's voice wheezed. "Do not do it, my love."

Dragonheart's head snapped around quickly,

Loki struggled to stand, but then managed to pull himself up straight, tall and proud. He wiped the blood from his mouth and flung it to the ground. "Please, do not let them turn you into a murderess. Do not let them take your purity and compassion and taint you with their hatred and scorn. Do not allow the likes of them to dim your beautiful light, my love."

Loki held open his arms to her. "Let mine be the only arms that hold you. May our love the only forever you need."

Dragonheart stared into him longingly.

Loki's body shimmered as his skin turned cobalt blue, the crimson swallowing up his eyes in a glow. "Come to me."

Dragonheart floated over to him, her feet touching the ground as her robes settled and stopped whipping around her. Her black eyes softened into a warm brown as her headdress faded and the curving silver horns disappeared. "My Loki," she whispered.

Their foreheads touched, and Loki enfolded her tenderly in his arms, pressing his face into her hair as his eyes locked on each and every one of the Warrior's Three and Sif in turn. The tendrils of dark matter released them last, and they fell to the ground, choking and gasping for air.

" _Loki_ ," Hermione whispered, her hand touching his face, but then her eyes rolled back and she collapsed against him. Loki cradled her against himself, his hand immediately going to her abdomen, pressing his ear to listen.

"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, pulling her up into his arms as he swiftly made haste for the house, flying back up the plateau at a dead run.

Thor grabbed the three warriors by the scruff of their armor and smashed them together with a white-faced Sif. "I _**told**_ you to stop," he growled lowly. "If your blindness has cost my brother and Lady Hermione their child, I will beat all of you over the head with Mjölnir until it stops amusing me. Considering that Mjölnir loves Lady Hermione, it probably won't stop being funny for a _very_ long time."

He threw them down, even as they continued to choke from being almost crushed to death by the Aether's awesome power.

"You make me _**sick**_ ," Thor spat furiously, storming up the path toward the house without so much as a backwards glance.

* * *

"I'm fine, my love," Hermione protested gently as he held her drink for her, making her take small sips.

"Rest, I beg of you," Loki said, pressing his lips to her hand. "That was far more magic than you needed to channel in but a single day.

Hermione looked as though she were going to argue, but then she nodded to him. "Are Fonn and the dragonets okay?"

"They're fine, Hermione."

"Are _you_ okay?"

Loki laughed. "Nothing a good night's rest won't fix."

"Your mother? Thor? Jane?"

"Hermione," Loki admonished gently. "They're all _fine_."

"Oh,um, okay," Hermione said, breathing a little easier.

Loki let his shirt fall to the floor as he slipped into the bed beside her, tugging her against him so their markings mated together, pulling their silken, spider-woven blanket over them both. She shuddered against him as the warmth spread between their bodies. She sighed deeply as he pressed his lips to her shoulder and rubbed her shoulders, expertly massaging her muscles as he went along.

Hermione groaned softly, eyes fluttering. "What are you _doooooing?_ " she mumbled. ' _Ohhh…_ "

Loki smiled. "Helping you rest, my love."

Mmfmfmffffhph," Hermione muttered with a long, happy sigh.

Loki tenderly rubbed her arms, trailing kisses down her shoulder and neck and then he cuddled up against her, his hands sliding over her hands to weave his fingers with hers. Hermione sighed contentedly, relaxing against him, and Loki felt his own eyes grow heavy. His mate needed rest, and he was happy she was calm and accepting of his comfort. Reaming the Warriors Three and Sif could wait for later, and hopefully Thor was taking care of that himself. If not, perhaps his mother would take up that cup and rain down her own personal version of admonishment—the kind that had found himself and his brother staring down at their shoes and desperately hoping to find a way to meld with the ground itself.

For now, however, Loki was content that his mate was content and that she hadn't torn the trio and Sif down to their component atoms. Later, she would have felt sincere regret, and she would have lamented what she had done in the heat of the moment. He would far rather she did neither, and somehow he had successfully reached her through the blinding haze of her incandescent rage.

He wouldn't tell her now, but he had found her rushing to his defence quite— _stimulating_. That, however, could wait for another time. Likely, many, many times. He smiled and snuggled into his beloved Hermione and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

" _ **Do you lot have some sort of DEATH WISH?!"**_ Thor yelled, slamming his fist down on the table, which creaked ominously. "Did you not hear me yelling at you to stop? _**Fonn**_ listened to me, and he's but a half-grown frost beast! What is _**your**_ excuse?!"

"Thor, you were fighting with him! We were just trying to help!"

"Sif, these three have a hive mind, but I would have expected something more in the way of actual thought from _**you!**_ "

"Hey!" the Warriors Three protested at once and then quickly shut up as they realised they'd just proved Thor's point admirably.

"That was a _**Jötunheim**_ beast!" Sif seethed. "It is probably the spawn of Loki's tryst with that whor—"

Thor immediately had his large fist clenched around Sif's neck. "My brother does not fornicate with _**whores**_ ," he growled furiously. "Even when we were not seeing eye-to-eye, he _**NEVER**_. Not. Even. Once. Laid himself down with a _**whore**_."

"Has he charmed you too?" Sif barely choked out. "He's _**ensorcelled**_ you!"

Thor flung Sif bodily into the Warriors Three. "He has _**not**_ ensorcelled me. I see things far more clearly now than ever I have before."

"Loki is a _**traitor!**_ " Sif threw back at him. "You _**knew**_ this. You told us there was no saving him—that your brother was dead to you. To _**us!**_ "

"That was _**before**_ I knew all that my father had done!" Thor hissed.

Sif and the Warriors Three frowned at that. " _ **What?"**_ They wore disbelief and denial on their faces like a flimsy mask.

"Surely you suspected as I did, even before now," Thor snapped. "Too proud and full of righteousness to believe. Loki was _**betrayed**_ _._ Because of that, he lashed out and betrayed _**us**_. Did you think him mad? Did you think he suddenly went from the perfect son that I wished _**I**_ could have been for my parents, always trying to keep _**ME**_ out of trouble, always doing right by me and then, suddenly, becoming a monster? He suddenly found out his entire _**life**_ was a lie. My father took him from his people as insurance that the Jötunn and the Asgardians would remain at peace. He never told him and Loki never had a clue, until that one day—the day that Laufey took his arm—that was when Loki found out that he was different."

"He is the _**enemy!**_ " Sif hissed.

"He was raised as one of _**us!**_ " Thor threw back in her face. "And one day, he found out he was what we had hated all along—all by no choice of his own. He—" Thor's face twisted in pain. "He is my _**brother**_ , and we have finally fought our way back to each other. We argue. We pummel each other—as we _**always**_ did, as we always will, but we are _**still**_ very much brothers." Thor's voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions.

Fandral shook his head. "Thor, look," he said. "I'm sorry for what went on back there. I really am, but surely you can see that, based on what we saw, that it was a logical assumption to make? Last we heard, Loki was enemy number one, and you were beating the royal shit out of each other. We've all been jonesing to get our pound of flesh from Loki. You _**know**_ that. Hell, you _**understood**_ that. How were we to know?"

"I yelled at you to stop," Thor reminded him. "Repeatedly."

Hogun stepped up. "We beg your forgiveness, Highness. Truly. Please, give us a task to prove our sincerity to you. This I beg of you."

Fandral bowed his head. "I, too, lost my head in the heat of vengeance, my Prince. Give us a task and we will finish it to your satisfaction."

Volstagg rubbed his beard and grunted. "I do not know if what you believe is truth, my friend and prince, but—I _**do**_ apologise for not listening to your demand the instant that it was made. Questions should be made when other ears are not listening, not in front of the crowd where it might be taken wrongly."

Sif finally closed her eyes and bowed her head in submission. "What would you have of us, our Prince?"

Thor narrowed his eyes. " _ **First**_ , you _**will**_ apologise to my brother. _**Second**_ , you _**will**_ apologise to Lady Hermione for causing undue strain during her pregnancy. _**Then**_ I require you to finish my mother's house to every last specification that she requires. Only _**then**_ we will see where we stand," Thor growled. He poured himself a lemonade and then drank the rest directly out of the pitcher.

" _ **My Prince?**_ " they all said at once, looking very confused.

" _This way!"_

" _This way!"_

" _We made curtains!"_

" _Pick your favourite colour, yes?"_

" _We thought gold and silver, but then maybe blue!"_

" _Little of both?"_

" _This way, my Lady!"_

A clutter of spiders rushed from the main building to the construction site. Frigga glided out from the building and seemed to float towards the construction site.

Sif and the Warriors Three all gaped, their collective jaws hitting the ground with an audible clack. " _My Lady Frigga?!"_

Frigga turned slowly, the midday sun haloing her silver and gold hair with a gloriously bright aura. "Lady Hermione is well and resting. That is the only reason you are helping build my new home and are not currently swimming the seas with Jörmungandr in hot pursuit, wearing nothing but your tatty underthings." With that, she glided away, following the celestial spiders to their chosen projects.

"By the way," Thor said, slamming down the pitcher of lemonade and giving a long, loud sniff. "My mother is _**alive**_ thanks to what you tried to shove into that pitiful trap you threw at Lady Hermione. My father sent me down with one, and it almost killed two people and the entire throng of familiars bound to them. Innocent lives. It activated _**without**_ my consent. You threw it _**deliberately**_. Think on _**that**_ as you make your apologies."

He staggered off, seeming to be somewhat less than coordinated, trying to drain the last dregs out of the pitcher as he went.

Pikas popped in, scrubbed the table, dropped off a large pitcher of water, a pile of lemons, and a bag of sugar, then popped out again. One spider stood on the edge of the pitcher. " _We were told you had to make everything yourselves, so here is the stuff to make lemonade._

A block of wood appeared on the table along with a wood chisel and a lump of beeswax.

" _We figured you couldn't make your own beeswax since you aren't bees, so they let us help you with that."_ The spider shrugged, shot out a line of silk, and blew itself off towards the construction site.

The errant Asgardians all exchanged pained looks as the price of their penance became more and more personal.

* * *

There was a loud crash as wood and plaster and a healthy helping of stone went down together.

" _Flee!"_

" _Bombs away!"_

" _Danger! Hardhat zone!"_

Spiders scrambled and fled from the construction site as fast as their multiple legs would carry them even as a grinning Loki came up behind his mother. "Mother, aren't you done having fun yet?"

Frigga turned to her son, her smile sickeningly sweet and dripping venom like honey fresh off the comb. "Why, whatever do you mean, my son?"

"The adopted apple doesn't fall far from the tree, mother," Loki purred. "Dearest."

"Perhaps I feel I will miss my lovely room with you and Hermione," Frigga said innocently, buffing her flawlessly manicured nails as Loki's grin widened further..

"All of twenty feet from our front door, mother?" Loki replied, arching a brow. "Rather doubtful, I fear."

"I shave off one task for every consideration they make for your darling wife, my son," Frigga noted fairly. "I add five more for every time they forget to greet her politely. It is entirely their own fault."

"And making them build a Pira pond in the front garden?" Loki said suspiciously.

" _ **That**_ was for insulting Jane."

Loki tilted his head. "It isn't like them to insult Jane, mother. What exactly did they say?"

"They broke Minerva's favourite planter and stepped one of the spiders," Frigga explained. "Jane got upset and was cradling the poor creature. It was Bucket, I think. Fandrall was frustrated and called her an overly sentimental human female."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Hermione can be an overly sentimental creature herself, but I would hardly call it a fault. It was because of her sentimental nature that she was able to find tenderness within her heart for me."

"Loki, my son, you were _never_ unworthy of love," Frigga said softly.

Loki sighed. "May it be so, but without her, I would never have dreamed such a thing to be possible."

Frigga patted her son's hands. She leaned down to to the twitching band of pikas, who were eager to help, or rather, eager to put things right before something _else_ blew up. "You may assist until the sun disappears, little ones. Let them then make their own beds and lie in them."

The pikas squeaked victoriously, then immediately dashed off to assist in the construction.

"You did that because you _know_ it will royally piss Sif off that small fluffy rodents demonstrate far better housekeeping skills than they do," Loki muttered near his mother's ear.

"My son, whatever do you _mean_?"

"I'm onto you, mother dearest," Loki said with a straight face. "After all, I _am_ my mother's son."

Frigga grinned smugly. "Of course you are, my darling."

Loki looked over at the stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. tent the warriors and Sif were sharing together. They had started to build a yurt for themselves, but in the dark it was extremely slow going. The frame was up, but there were a distinctive lack of furs to cover all the sides. The spiders were twitchy, wanting to weave something nice for the outside, and Loki knew it was simply their nature to be exceedingly helpful. They had even helped to build an elegant guesthouse for Stephen Strange and whatever handful of sorcerers he would invite to drop in on a random day or weekend. The little creatures had channeled all of their frustrations at not being permitted to help with Frigga's house into making a suitable residence for Stephen. The pikas had built him a floor-to-ceiling library, a massive private bath, a master bedroom, and an entertaining area, as well as a study and planning room fit for the Sorcerer Supreme. The spiders had held nothing back, making elaborate carpets, curtains, and cushions as well as a down duvet covered in their finest spider silk.

Hermione had laughed saying this was the most comfortable place in the middle of nowhere that anyone had ever seen. Loki had agreed, but it was _their_ most comfortable place in the middle of nowhere.

With her name no longer on a hit list, Hermione and the goblins had purchased the entire plateau legally—Tibet being eager for the money and of the opinion that if they wanted a rock in the middle on nowhere that no one else wanted to go on a perilous trek to get to, she was more than welcome to it. Legally, she signed it over to the goblin family, and they, like all goblins, shared property between them all. Since Hermione was, officially, a goblin in all but blood, the land would never be without an owner. It would always be a safe place, and Loki could appreciate that more than anything. Hermione had done something that connected the fireplace to a network of fireplaces, so they could send her dragonets off to train, and that had made Hermione very, very happy.

And when _Hermione_ was happy, Loki found himself quite happy in turn.

Tibet was also more than happy, suddenly being able to afford to bring more education and health care to their people thanks to the much-needed influx of funds—because Hermione was _also_ a goblin, and goblins loved to introduce real investments that actually paid back. It was normally something the goblins kept to themselves, but for Hermione, they were willing to make exception for Tibet. There were even rumours of a new branch of Gringotts to be hidden there, and goblins loved the idea of expansion in new places.

As for the twitchy familiars, the spiders needed things to do before they burst. They were swarming over Hermione in eager readiness to help with the pregnancy, but it wasn't enough. They'd even replaced Thor's old cape with a magically homespun one, and Hermione had taught Loki how to assist the spiders in making magical adjustments and guiding them to where he needed them. The spiders loved having goals as much as doing things themselves, and within a day, Loki had made his first cape for Thor… which had then proceeded to beat him up and give him a black eye.

The second one had been rather better, especially after Hermione had given Loki "the disapproving eye." The cape seemed almost perfect, until one day, the cape sneakily undid Thor's trousers and let him hang out in front of both Jane and his mother.

Frigga had given Loki _her_ "disapproving eye" and Loki had gulped and scrambled to do much better on his third attempt. Finally, while touching his mate, he felt balanced enough to do things properly, and while Hermione rested, he did the magical weaving, and the final cape for his brother was finished and seemed to fit him all _too_ well, as both Thor and his brand-new and improved cape got absolutely knackered on their first night out together.

Frigga had retooled the "defective" capes into the most exquisite of baby blankets for the nursery, and Frigga's magic seemed far less apt to design misbehaving creations. If anything, they slapped Thor around when he came around drunk, tucked themselves dutifully around the crib as they waited for a client, and even rocked the crib with a gentle, lazy, sleep-inducing swing.

The spiders adored Frigga, following her around like a line of baby ducklings whenever they weren't tending to Hermione, trying to pick up whatever wisdom and "neatness" they could find. To them, everything Frigga said was "neat" and worthy of knowing. Loki had to smile at that. His mother was, indeed, worthy of knowing.

Frigga had taken it upon herself to create a new residence for Jane, well technically for Thor _and_ Jane, but more for Jane's comfort with her pregnancy and personal needs. Loki had kept a very watchful eye on Hermione after the incident with the Warriors Three and Sif—not that he didn't trust her. To her, the use of magic was every bit as natural as breathing, but she sometimes forgot that she required plenty of rest. And not just for herself and her unborn baby, but for her familiars—all that were bound to them were sustained by her. The Aether said eventually she would become used to it, but plentiful rest would help everyone and harm no one. Loki took it upon himself to make sure she rested and "stopped being such a Gryffindor" as she described it.

Frigga was convinced Hermione was carrying twins, and she was also guessing that Jane, too, was carrying a set of twins. What that meant for Thor remained to be seen, but Loki was absolutely delighted. The spiders and pikas were, Loki was utterly convinced, taking bets on the time and day, sex of the babies, number in the "clutch" and how many legs they would have. After having given birth to his own eight-legged horse, Loki was hoping his first children with his true heart and soul mate looked a little more like himself and his mate rather than a ravaging wolf, a half skull-faced daughter, a massive world-eating sea serpent, or an eight-legged horse. A god could hope, right?

" _EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_

" _Get the hot water!"_

" _We'll get the towels!"_

" _Bucket! Get the uh—bucket!"_

"Chirrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

Spiders and pikas scrambled frantically around his feet, running back into the house at top speed. Dragonets ran between his legs, and one overgrown frost-beast puppy practically bowled him over to get inside.

Loki rushed in, trying not to step on anyone or trip over anyone else. Frigga had banished him out of the house until the real labour began, saying that rest was best for his mate until she had to do all of the work to evict the babies from her womb. Having given birth to a horse, Loki, unlike most other males, knew _exactly_ what labour did to a person. Rest was something he dearly wished he had had back then.

As he came to Hermione's side, she was already panting and sweating profusely. She looked up at him with a warm smile, tired but genuine. "I was so mean to Frigga an hour ago," Hermione confessed quietly. "I just didn't want anyone to touch me."

Loki gently soothed her markings and smiled. "Labour is a strange recipe, my love. One moment you want every touch you can get. The next you want to punch everyone directly in the face."

Hermione grinned. "You _do_ understand."

"Eight-legged horse-baby, remember?" Loki reminded her with an endearingly crooked grin.

Hermione's eyes fluttered as she enjoyed his touch. "The pain seems much less now," she sighed gratefully.

Frigga had set up a comfortable chair next to the bed, tilting the bed itself in what the midwives of Asgard called the "birthing position." It was meant to keep the woman semi-upright, where she could easily cling to cords or rails and remain in a sort of squat, allowing the babies to come out with considerably less strain on both mother and baby. It was the way it had done since the birthing of the Realms, as far as he knew, and Angrboða had been quite adamant that she was _not_ laying on her back to kick their spawn out into the world. Of course, Angrboða had not even wanted him in the same room with her when she gave birth—and since she had been a fully grown, normal-sized jötunn, well, it was definitely to his best interest to get the hell out of her way.

Angrboða had been a small comfort—an attempt to feel when he felt nothing. He had laid with her in spite of Sigyn, hoping the woman would divorce him, but, unfortunately, she flatly refused to do so. No, it had taken Odin turning their sons into wolves and having them eat each other to finally break Sigyn's mind enough to leave him. Even then, it had taken Loki being tethered to a boulder using his dead son's intestines and having acidic serpent venom slowly dripped into his eyes for countless years before Sigyn had finally snapped. It was her final straw that had released him back into the world. Sigyn had taken her son's guts to bury him with honour and divorced Loki on the spot. He had not seen her again.

Loki had lived through it all, but he knew that if Odin even laid a finger on Hermione, it would not go well. He soothed her hair and her markings, holding her hand in between contractions, and when she grabbed the cords to heave herself up into position and push, he gently rubbed her back, tracing the markings to ease her pain. Frigga came in, wiped her brow, gave her fresh warm compresses, and adjusted a timekeeping device to keep track of the contractions. At one point, Jane and Thor had come in to offer support, but the moment the baby crowned, Thor had passed out cold on the floor. Jane finally managed to drag him out with the help of his new cloak, a clutter of spiders, and a lot of pikas as Frigga shook her head and tutted.

Loki just filed it away in his mind for future leverage.

After an hour or two, Hermione was looking quite tired, the baby having decided to dive back in only for Hermione to respond with a fervent "Oh HELL no!" Finally, Hermione had had enough, and when the next round of strong contractions came, she pushed for all she was worth, heaving herself up on the cords and squatting down, and the babies slid out one after the other with a spontaneous gush of blood and fluid.

Black and red tendrils of dark matter gently cradled the twin babies, lifting them up to Frigga to clean and swaddle. Frigga gave Loki a pair of shiny silver scissors and gestured to the umbilical cords. Swallowing hard, Loki stared at the umbilicals, unsure where, how, or _if_ he should do what his mother was telling him to do.

He finally sucked in his breath and carefully cut the cords, and Frigga tied them off expertly, snatching the scissors out of his hand.

The babies were crying loudly, and Loki was unsure of what to do, but Frigga smiled, saying healthy crying meant a healthy baby. She gave him both swaddles to hold as she dealt with the placenta, and Loki tenderly placed one swaddle in Hermione's arms as he leaned close and kissed her sweetly. The Cloak of Levitation moved her up onto the bed and tilted her back in a more natural angle, brushing her face with a warm towel. The spiders wove a sling for the babies—one for Hermione and one for Loki, proving yet again that celestial arachnids were far more considerate than most people.

"Chirrrr!" the pikas all lined up to sniff and examine the newborn babies.

The dragonets landed on the edge of the bed, snouts sniffing the new arrivals, and Fonn bumped his nose lightly against each baby and sniffed a greeting, tail wagging enthusiastically.

A smaller clutter of spiders came in late, rushing in to take their turn looking at the babies. " _Sorry!"_

" _So sorry!"_

" _Had to put a compress on blondie's head!"_

" _He has a big head!"_

" _Big compress."_

They held up their front legs to cheer the new arrivals.

Loki placed the daughter he was holding into Frigga's arms, watching his mother's eyes light up with happiness. Hermione smiled, pressing a tender kiss on her blue-skinned baby girl's forehead, her small crimson eyes staring up at her mum with nothing but pure wonder. The pale pink-skinned baby Frigga was holding kicked off his swaddle, apparently disapproving of the notion of his being confined. He already had quite a shock of silky black hair, and his dull blue-grey eyes still held the mystery of what they would be once he got a little older.

"Athena Frigga," Hermione said softly, rubbing noses with her blue-skinned baby girl. "Welcome to the world."

Loki touched the infant boy in his mother's arms and smiled. "Magnus Severus," he said warmly. "Welcome to Miðgarðr."

Both babies cooed and burbled.

Hermione curled her hand around Loki's arm, her fingers idly tracing his markings for comfort. Loki looked at her warmly, his smile lighting up his face as he stared into her loving eyes.

* * *

Time passed slowly— _too_ slowly—for Ginny Potter. Her former glory days as the Holyhead Harpies' star chaser and the trophy wife of hero Harry Potter had turned into the bitterest of curses in only ten short years. Now, she barely made enough to keep herself warm and fed in Knockturn Alley, and that was _only_ because she shared the upstairs rooms with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

When Harry had fallen from grace and become the Man-Who-Lied along with her brother, the Coward-Who-Ran-Away, the Harpies didn't want any part of her anymore. Her father was living alone in a small flat somewhere in London, shipping WWW merchandise for her brother, George. Her mother was, as everyone knew, serving out a 10-year sentence in Azkaban for having done some truly unspeakable things to Xenophilius Lovegood as well as bribing Seamus Finnegan to set Granger's home ablaze with fiendfyre. Bill was off living in France with Fleur, having already been shunned from the family for marrying "zat French gurl." Percy had been kicked out the Ministry so fast his arse had tumbled over his head, and now he was working as a tavern sweep for old Tom at the Leaky Cauldron—the only man who had the heart to take pity on a Weasley. Charlie had holed himself away in Romania and married some local wizard named Vladimir and changed his last name to Tepes. Bill, too, had decided enough was enough and had followed Charlie's example, changing his name to Guillaume Delacour, much to Fleur's very vocal delight.

But Ginny, no, not a chance. Ginny was far too well-known to ever be able to change her name and get away with it. Everyone saw her flaming red hair and immediately knew who she was. She spent almost all the money she made maintaining the pricey glamours that kept her red hair looking dull and brown. The permanent ones were far too expensive for her to afford on her meager earnings. There were rumours that an elite custom potions business was being run out of Tibet, but getting there was only the first challenge. Finding it was the next, and getting there was apparently next to impossible without a prior invitation. Those who tried anyway apparently ended up somewhere off the coast of Greenland in a rickety wooden boat with only one oar and a very hungry-looking shark hot on their tail.

Ginny didn't have the money for a custom potion, anyway. Not anymore. All of her money had been locked away by the goblins the moment the highly-anticipated trial (read: fiasco) of the Weasley family versus the Wizengamot had hit the papers. And, since Harry, like Ron, had never bothered to pay his share of the restitution due the goblins for the destruction caused by to their part in breaking out of Gringott's on the back of a runaway dragon, the goblins actually managed to look even crankier whenever anyone bearing the telltale Weasley genes or the Potter name set foot in their bank.

As far as the Wizarding world was concerned, the Weasleys and Potters were every bit as reviled as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Blacks, and many of the other more infamous pureblood lines. Neville Longbottom had cleaned out the Aurors, Kingsley Shacklebolt had cleaned out the Ministry, and her entire family was held in shame by all of magical Britain. And it was all because of her former 'best friend', Hermione bloody Granger. She just couldn't keep her sodding mouth shut and let the boys claim the fame they so rightfully deserved.

Truth plague. Feh. There was nothing "truthful" about it. She'd been spouting random untruths for _years_ now, so much so, in fact, that Lavender had transferred her from crystal reading into the silent field of divination involved in the interpretation of tea leaves. That was why she couldn't make as much money. She sat with a hundred and some cups a day, quilling out meanings and owling them to the people who had requested her particular type of "insight".

Most people wanted _personal_ readings. though. They wanted you to take their hand and tell them their story, not have their reader spew random truths they didn't really want to know. Worse—Ginny spewed supposed truths about life, not that she actually _believed_ any of them.

Ginny heard the sound of laughter coming from the front of the store, and, her curiosity getting the better of her, she peered through the beaded curtain to see who was talking to Lavender.

"Naw, I haven't seen any of _them_ in years," Lavender giggled. "The whole family burrowed so deep underground after the Wizengamot got done with them that you would rarely ever see any red hair in Diagon Alley—and then that was _all_ you saw in Knockturn. It even became a fad to be a red-headed bad boy or girl down at the brothel for a time," Lavender tutted derisively.

"Ew," the customer said, shaking her head. "Business doing okay?"

"Yeah, we make do," Lavender smiled. "We can live comfortably and pay our bills. Even go out from time to time. You probably heard that both Parvati and I each had a kid by Ronald. Even gave birth the same day, if you take my meaning. We make enough to support them, and we're okay with it. Never get a lick of anything from the slippery bastard, but then we don't have to worry about visitation, so I suppose that's good too."

"I'm sorry, Lavender."

"Naw, don't be," Lavender chuckled. "Hormones made us do such stupid things back then. Sean and Veronica just turned six, and they know that Pavarti and Lavender are their mummies, and really that's all they need to know, right?"

The woman nodded, laughing. "A loving family is what a child needs most of all." The woman had long, curly brunette hair pulled back by a silken bow that glittered like polished silver and gold. There was something strangely familiar about her but Ginny couldn't _quite_ make out her face.

"Children?" Lavender asked.

"Twins," she replied proudly. "Athena and Magnus."

"Handful?"

"A mother-in-law who is to die for and more than enough interested parties to keep them busy if I need to go out."

"That's great! It really is. I—" Lavender put a hand on hers. "I'm so sorry for what happened. Really."

"Don't be, Lavender," the woman said kindly. "Things are much better now, truly. Oh, and I need a good seer's crystal, if you have one. School project. Athena wants to make a seer's sundial to impress her Uncle Stephen."

Lavender laughed. "I have a few good ones back here that will suitably impress and work well with the sun. The others are more for staring into with light behind it rather than from above. Will that do?"

"Sure, thanks."

Lavender dug around and soon pulled out a flawless citrine sphere. "Thanks for coming to us, Hermione. I know you didn't have to give us your business."

Hermione dropped a number of galleons into Lavender's palm.

There was a loud thump from the back.

"Someone back there?"

"Just our tea readings girl. She's pants at personal readings. Says too much, but she does okay with the owl correspondence stuff."

"Ah," Hermione said, taking the parcel. "Thanks, Lavender."

The two women hugged.

"Say hello to Parvati for me, will you?"

"Sure thing, Hermione."

As Lavender closed up her shop for the day, she found her tea reader passed out cold on the back room's floor.

"Well, _that_ explains the thud," Lavender said with some amusement. "I wonder if she saw something really awful in that last cup of tea?"

* * *

Harry had no idea how long it had a been since he'd had a good night's sleep in a comfortable bed, a hot shower, or a filling meal. He'd been cursed, he was certain of it. Cursed since the first night he had started spewing the truth, and that had begun the night he had personally debriefed Dawlish's crew after they'd come back from Gringott's. That was the night everything had gone straight to hell in a handbasket.

He wasn't sure _what_ had actually started it, though.

Ron had succumbed first, even though Harry had technically become infected earlier. He had guzzled down plenty of silencing potions to put the kibosh on it, though. Ron, however, hadn't bothered to do so.

Now, however, Harry found he had other problems to deal with. He couldn't get any spell he cast to work properly. He'd cast _Aguamenti_ and had ended up with gerbils raining down upon him. He'd try to cast a warming charm and a flock of buzzards would appear and circle over his head. He'd try to cast a Patronus, and it would come out upside down and wobble about like it was drunk. Every time he tried to _Accio_ anything, he'd find himself getting brained by golfball-sized gumdrops and lemon sherbets. If he tried to eat one, however, they all tasted like vomit-flavoured jelly beans coated in burning tar.

Harry sighed. Now he was in the lobby of some place that looked like a stuffy old monastery. There were some kids, some older people, but they were all waiting, just like him, in the same stuffy room. Some of the kids looked even worse than he did—nothing but skin and bone and tattered clothing.

A black-haired child came bounding in, carrying a hamper, and he placed it down. He opened it and a fluffy spider popped out. The child pushed it back in, but it popped back out clutching an apple. The child sighed and handed the apple to the nearby child, then another, and another until everyone had one. The spider popped out again, brandishing a large slice of melon, and again the child distributed the slices of fruit until everyone had one.

Harry couldn't help but devour it completely, even eating the rind in his gnawing hunger. By the time the boy was finished distributing food, there had been a full course meal for all out of that single hamper, but the only complaint Harry had was that there had been nothing whatsoever containing meat. He hadn't had a juicy steak or even a burger in _ages_. A few of the people bowed and clasped their hands together, saying something to the boy, and he smiled a little but said nothing. The fluffy spider had disappeared back into the hamper, and the boy heaved it up and carried it back out.

"There you are, Magnus," said a tall, slender man dressed in clothing that seemed to be made up of metal and leather melded seamlessly together. "Did you lose any of our helpful little friends?"

The boy shook his head mutely.

"Are you sure?"

The boy opened up the hamper so the man could look inside. "Excellent. Please take the masters their food now. I'm sure they are quite famished."

The little boy beamed with pleasure and scampered off.

"Ah, there you are, my friend, come to watch, learn, or teach today?" a man's deep voice chuckled from around the corner.

"My brother would call you utterly mad for having _me_ teach anything," the tall man said, crossing his leanly muscled arms across his chest.

"Perhaps, I am," the voice replied. "But if we do not learn from you, how are we to know, hrm?"

The other man waved his hand dismissively. "Save the talk of magic and philosophy for your Minerva."

Harry jerked his head up. How common was _that_ name? Impossible!

"Mummy! Look at what Master Wong taught me!"

"Oh? Do show me, my sweet."

There was a flash of light and a _**fwoosh**_ **,** and thousands of beautiful monarch butterflies filled the monastery.

Feminine laughter and a light clapping filled the room. "Very good, Magnus," a painfully familiar voice said. It was so _very_ familiar. "Did you finish handing out the food to your masters?"

"Yes, mum!" the boy replied, happily bouncing on his toes.

"Did you manage to pry your sister out of the library, hrm?"

The boy stared at his feet. "No."

"And why not?"

"Last time I tried, she brained me with one of the really thick tomes."

The tall, thin, raven-haired man snorted a laugh and looked upward. "Well, now we know which one of us our Athena takes after."

"Loki Laufeyson, I'll have you know that I have _never_ brained anyone with a tome, thick or otherwise. Books are precious!" the female voice admonished.

"Noted, my love," the man chuckled. "I fear I shall have to blame my brother instead."

"Now, Thor—Thor, I would believe," the female voice said with a sigh. "He does have two children who somehow ended up being christened Mischief and Woe, after all."

"You don't seem to have any problems with them," Loki commented.

"Many years of practice, my love."

"Lady Hermione," Loki chided playfully. "You shouldn't talk about my dear brother that way."

"Pfffft," Hermione replied. "Both of you are _such_ sodding children."

"My heart," Loki said, theatrically stabbing himself. "It truly bleeds, my lady wife."

"Hrmmm, however shall I make it up to you?" Hermione hummed, and a lovely brunette woman glided into view, wrapped her arms around Loki's neck and pulled his head down to sweetly kiss his forehead.

Loki growled lowly, pulling the curl-haired woman tightly against himself. "Stephen—"

"Go, go—" the other man's voice laughed. "Minerva and I will take excellent care of them. It's our night anyway. Disney movie night, you know. It's Wong's turn to pick."

" _ **YAY!"**_ two children chorused.

"Ah, there you are, Athena, you little minx."

"Hi, Uncle Stephen."

Hermione glided over to the two children and kissed them both on the forehead. "Be good, my darlings."

"Yes, mummy!" they chimed together.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered. He rushed out of the room, reaching to make a grab for Hermione. "Hermione!" His fist curled around Hermione's billowing cloak.

 **CRACK!**

They were gone.

* * *

"My love?"

"Hrm?"

"Not to put a damper on the plan to carry you off to bed and make you repeatedly scream my name in ecstasy, but—" Loki said with a sniff. "But when did we order a _**yak?**_ "

The pure white yak sporting a thick mop of furry black 'dreadlocks' on its head and body just grunted lowly, staring at them with a rather startled look in its unusually green eyes.

"I, uh, no, my love, I honestly do not remember ordering us a yak," Hermione said, frowning slightly. "Especially a green-eyed yak. Or any yak for that matter."

"A gift yak?" Loki speculated.

Hermione eyed the yak. "Male or female? I can't really tell."

"Sadly, my love, we do not have yaks in Asgard. Now, if you wanted me to sex a Jötunheim beast, I'm your frost giant."

"But I already _know_ Fonn is male," Hermione pouted.

"Alas, my expertise seems to have fallen out of favour," Loki sighed.

Fonn bounded out with a happy whuff, his tail wagging furiously. He towered over the yak, and he lowered his nose down to sniff it curiously.

The yak made a strange, terrified noise and fainted dead away.

Fonn whimpered, drooping.

Hermione patted Fonn. "Maybe you can tell us what he or she is, Fonn, love?"

Fonn snuffled the unconscious yak for a few seconds and then looked back at Hermione.

"Female it is, then," Hermione said decisively. "Fonn says she's in heat too."

Loki tapped his chin thoughtfully with his fingers. "Well, we should do something with her before the children have to come home. Any of the children. The last thing we need is yak-envy."

"Rue the day," Hermione chuckled. "I think have an idea, husband mine."

Loki tilted his head hopefully. "Will we have time for extracurriculars after?"

Hermione leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Of course."

Loki did a happy little dance that involved a considerable amount of strutting.

"My darling peacock," Hermione cooed.

"Mmmm, see something you like?" Loki purred in response.

"Don't I always?"

The yak made a pathetic bleating noise from the ground as Fonn snuffled it curiously. The yak passed out again.

"Maybe it's a rare species of fainting yak," Hermione speculated.

Loki pulled his sceptre out of the air and swung it around tapping the yak on the rump. It floated up and hovered in mid-air. "My lady, where shall we take this gift yak so we may get down the more important business of me exploring every inch of your body?"

Hermione snorted. "Come on then," she said, holding out her hand.

Loki touched his sceptre to the yak and then touched his hand to hers.

 **CRACK!**

* * *

As Hermione pressed her head to Loki's, he smiled at her. "I will take care of the rest, my love. Please, I will meet you at home _very_ shortly."

"Promise?" Hermione whispered.

"I would never lie to you, my wife," Loki purred, his fingers brushing against her temples.

Hermione smiled and stepped back, disappearing with a **crack.**

Loki tied the yak's halter to the post near the poor family's shelter, hearing their soft snores within. It had taken a few hours, but they had located all of their belongings, and they had left the family an extensive yak 'care package' as well as plentiful nutritional supplements to insure that the yak did not starve before they could move to where the wild grasses were more plentiful.

Hermione had insisted that the yak be a gift to a family in need, and so it was going to a family that had lost everything—their yaks, their home, and their land. Now, the deed was sealed in a waterproof case sitting on top of the other boxes.

Loki's eyes narrowed as he made sure the rope was tightly fastened and secure. He leaned down to the black-and-white yak's ear. "I _know_ who you are, Harry Potter. You hurt my beloved wife, and I will not stand for it. My wife is perhaps the kindest and most compassionate soul I have ever known. She gives so much of herself and asks for very little in return. Her patience is that of a saint—greater perhaps than any god's. And you, Harry Potter—you hurt her. Not unintentionally but deliberately. For that service, I will now give you a chance you did not see fit to give her: a chance for a truly meaningful life helping those who are genuinely in need. Enjoy your new life, 'Hariti'."

Loki stood up, his smile twisting into a sneer of pure disdain. "She may have forgiven you, but _I_ have not."

 **Crack.**

Loki was gone.

* * *

 _ **Poor Family Gains Exotic Yak and New Hope**_

 _The Sambhota family woke up to a most wondrous surprise this morning: a pristine white female yak with distinctive black, woolly dreads. The family has been struggling for survival ever since all of their yaks were killed in a tragic fire last year. Since then, they have survived by begging and taking any small jobs that came their way. With four young children to feed, hardship was an everyday fact of life for the Sambhota family._

 _Today, however, they have been gifted not only an exotic yak that promises to provide both rich milk and many calves but also the return of the land and possessions they had been forced to sell when they lost their yaks in the blaze._

 _So far, twenty offers to provide stud services for this exotic yak have been given to the Sambhota family in the hopes that her unique colouring breeds true. Five ranchers have also given the family extra yaks that were slated to be culled at the end of the season, stating that the exotic yak, which the Sambhota family has named Hariti, was a good omen and should be supported. The Sambhotas send their deepest gratitude to everyone who has made it possible for them to send their children back to school again, and, starting today: to live a new life._

* * *

"Thor?"

"Hrm?"

"Don't you wish to go back to Asgard someday?" Jane turned to him, and drew her hand across his face.

"I still fight for Asgard and the other Realms," Thor responded with a yawn.

"I _know_ you do, but—" Jane frowned. "Don't you miss your home?"

"I do, but when I am there, I miss _you_ as well," Thor said with a sigh.

Jane pressed her head to Thor's chest and sighed. "It's because I'm a goat at the banquet table."

Thor's expression darkened. "Father had no right to call you that. All the years of preaching how we had to defend and take care of the younger races, all the realms, and when faced by it—"

"I will admit that I was hoping for more from your father, but, look at how wonderful your mother has been. Even before she—"

"Died?"

Jane sighed. "Yes."

"She wandered the fields of the in-between, alone and unknown because her death was not honourable," Thor said. "Would I had but known her spirit was so tortured—"

Jane smacked his ribs with the soft side of her fist. "You _couldn't_ have known,", she stated adamantly. "If _you_ had known. If _Loki_ had known. Do you think he would have wasted his time trying to take over Asgard again, played with us 'stupid' mortals again, tried to bring Ragnarök down on our heads, if he had _KNOWN_ your mother was out there wandering the in-between?"

Thor looked rather thoughtful. "No. He would have," he began, "he would have moved heaven and earth and all of the Nine Realms to find her again. As would I."

"And it wouldn't have done anything but bring you pain," Jane said.

Thor looked up, startled.

"She would have been a _spirit_ , Thor." Jane stared up at him. "Even if you _had_ found her, she would not have had a body. I'm new to this magic thing. This 'new-and-improved' benevolent Aether thing—Hell, this whole new 'I'm-not-trying-to-take-over-your-world' Loki thing. The 'I actually had _children_ with Thor' thing? The 'I'm married to the God of Thunder' thing? But if there is one thing I am pretty _damn_ sure about, other than gravity itself, is that it hadn't been for Hermione's bond to the Aether it would not have instinctively reached out to your mother with a tendril of restoration."

Jane frowned. "I am a scientist, Thor. I— _need_ proof for everything. But until I met you, I'd never believed in such things as gods or magic. Hermione has taught me that magic is just another kind of energy. I may not be able to quantify it in scientific terms, but it _is_ the same—it cannot be created or destroyed. It can only be transferred, channeled, or left in its natural state."

Jane looked thoughtful. "Tilde and Britta are magical, not because they can fling out spells or because they look like miniature Asgardians, but—we made that magic _together_. Our children. We joined our lives together and made something wholly magical."

"Stubborn, trouble-making mischief makers," Thor muttered half under his breath.

Jane smacked him with her hand, causing him to laugh out loud. She stared at him fondly. "They are _your_ kids, Thor. Considering the stories Frigga has told me of _your_ childhood, it is purely down to luck that they are as well-behaved as they are and not out there wrestling bears in the woods and getting their arms chewed off like Tyr."

Thor gave her the most innocent look in his repertoire, but Jane knew better.

"I really _love_ her," Jane confessed, causing Thor to touch her cheek. "Hermione—she dotes on our children like they are hers too. She redirects their tempers, calms their cries, teaches them and me so much. She accepts me. I have no superpowers. I have no magic. She's like the sister I've always wanted. And through her, I've come to—"

Jane swallowed hard. "Even love Loki. Is that bad? Am I _mad_?"

"No more mad than I," Thor chuckled.

"But you _ARE_ mad," Jane protested. "Barking mad."

"No, I think that award goes to Dr Erik."

Jane sputtered. "Selvig… is a genius, Thor, he just needs a certain amount of processing time and a translator."

"And clothes that stay on him," Thor said after some thought. "And an around-the-clock babysitter."

Jane snorted, laughing. "Darcy has a handle on him."

"I would not want to touch _any_ of his handles," Thor muttered.

Jane smacked him. " _ **Thor!"**_

"I much prefer to look at a naked _you_ ," Thor told her sincerely.

Jane's eyes grew wide as Thor's eyes gained a darker, predatory look. She tried to roll out of the bed and escape, but Thor's arms wrapped around her as his mouth suctioned to her neck, sending thrills of pleasure down to her toes. "Hggggghhh!" she protested half-heartedly.

Rumbles of thunder gathered outside.

"Thor!" she gasped, her hands clawing out and grabbing a pillow as he trailed kisses down her neck and found her breast. She bucked against him, a loud moan escaping before she could control it. "The children!" she panted.

"They are with mother," Thor rumbled, sucking her breast into his mouth and causing her to writhe uncontrollably, making loud whimpering sounds. He worked a little harder, torturing her sweetly until her moans were laced with his name. "I love it when you call out my name," Thor noted, his blue eyes dark with lust.

He moved over to the other breast and started again, using his thumb to rub the other, and Jane cried out, her legs struggling to move around him and draw him closer to where she really wanted him to be. But Thor was staring intently at her opposing breast as, even as he pleasured her. Her flushed skin was darkening as ripples of runic markings rose around her breasts in a delicate pattern.

"You _do_ love them," Thor said with no little wonder.

Jane whimpered incoherently, "Whafftts?"

Thor smiled. "Remember how you said you envied me my marks, lover?"

Jane just looked up at him needfully.

Thor's mouth descended upon Jane's marked breast, his tongue licking slowly across the lines.

Jane let out an ecstatic scream as her legs locked around his and pulled him down on top of her, and her hands clawed at his back—directly over _his_ marks.

 **Cracka-cracka-BOOM!**

* * *

Loki tilted his head to the side as the thunder rumbled and lightning crackled over the plateau. "Hnn, what is the use of sending the kids to be with mother if you are just going to summon thunder and lightning everywhere you go?"

Hermione just shook her head, putting up the breakfast dishes, managing only a few before the pikas chattered at her admonishingly and disappeared with the rest.

Loki pulled Hermione close, his lips moving slowly across her ear lobe. "I would not wish my lady wife to feel she is not garnering a sufficient enough amount of her mate's attraction."

" _Hrreeeeee!"_ Hermione squeaked, dropping the cup she was drying. A pika snatched it mid-fall and disappeared with it. " _ **Loki!"**_

"Hmmmmmm?"He replied. "Do you require something, my love?"

"She's accepted us," Hermione said, squirming under his touch. "Can you _feel_ it?"

"Both of us," Loki purred, nuzzling her tenderly.

"Does that mean—?"

Loki smiled at her. "Jane will get to see her children grow up, no matter how long that might take."

Hermione's eyes widened and she threw her arms around Loki, pouncing him onto the couch. He fell back with a startled oof, a look of delight and surprise plastered to his face. "I'm _so_ happy for her!"

Loki let out a genuine laugh. "Only you, my love. A person accepts a lifetime bond to you, and you are happy that they get to live to see their children grow up."

Hermione flushed. "I am also happy that your brother can finally be at peace, knowing that his time with Jane is not limited to the blink of an eye."

Loki's expression softened as he pressed his forehead to hers. "It will be different, this future," he said, pulling her to him. "We shall not be alone on this path through the unknown."

Hermione gently stroked Loki's side, her hand slipping under his shirt to run her fingers along his markings. She watched his eyes widen and nostrils flare, his mouth parting in a soft pant. "I don't think you ever need to worry about that, love."

Loki's eyes glassed over. "Hermione." He pressed his forehead to hers before moving his mouth over hers. His crimson eyes met hers as his cobalt skin shimmered. "Are you _real_?"

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair with a tender smile. "As real as you, husband mine."

"Am I?" he asked brokenly.

"As real as our children, beloved," she said, kissing his mouth lingeringly.

"Do they have eight legs?" Loki asked.

Hermione grinned. "A few hundred of them do, and they weave and serve us tea. They even put away the dishes, if the other furry children don't beat them to it. We even have a pair of two-legged children, if you can believe that. They were even birthed the normal way, through me."

Loki gave an half-hearted laugh, his eyes haunted by a past that kept hounding him no matter how hard he tried.

"I _love_ you, Loki Laufeyson," Hermione said, pressing her lips passionately to his as her fingers tenderly traced the intricate markings on his face.

Loki's pain seemed to dissolve away, a warm smile spreading across his face as Hermione's love filled in all the cracks, every wound—and vanished every scar.

Just like magic.

* * *

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I hope this gets to you, but Pavarti and I have been thinking that this was somehow all your doing. We've been getting a thirty-two way cut of some fund for Victims of Conception via R.B.W. It didn't take much for us to figure out they meant Ronald Bilius Weasley, but apparently we and the other witches with the misfortune of becoming victims of Ron's rampant libido are eligible to get a share of all proceeds garnered from the sale of "The Red Weasel"- the latest Wizarding birth control product. All of it is thrown into a special fund that we can draw out for our children's' education, health, and basic needs and the entire program is being overseen by Gringott's._

 _I'd never have imagined that the goblins would be agreeable to helping any witch or wizard after the war. We didn't exactly treat them well. They still don't have the right to use a wand—but—_

 _We couldn't help but notice the red weasel logo looked a lot like that snake you used to draw biting its tail during Muggle Studies class._

 _None of us has seen hide nor hair of Ron since the very public disgrace of the majority of the Weasley family. I heard that Molly Weasley is being released from Azkaban in a just a few years, and Rolf and Luna are petitioning for her stay in Azkaban to be extended due to undue stress on their family. Xenophilius_ still _hasn't been able to live alone after everything that horrible woman did to him._

 _Xeno has remarried, however, and now lives with Serenity, his new wife, in some place called New York. Apparently an entire city there turned into a blooming desert_ (literally _blooming_ ) _and they are out there hunting the elusive Crumpled Snorkack. I have no idea what that is or where the city itself is, but Luna tells me that she's also off studying a new rainforest that popped up in New Mexico. She says the place has Muggles and Wizards alike scrambling to figure out just how it happened. Apparently a few years ago, New Mexico had a bout of heavy thunderstorms that lasted for months and when it was finally all over, well, there was a rainforest instead of a desert. No idea whatsoever what caused the blooming desert of New York, though._

 _My friend Emily Barker—she's an American witch—she says they've been scanning the desert and there is some sort of ancient tomb buried miles below the sand. She said they're trying to dig it up and find out what may have caused the event, but the deeper they dig, the more sand comes gushing out. They're really worried that it will somehow spread to New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut, but I can't even fathom_ _an entire_ city _disappearing under sand virtually overnight._

 _Oh, but look at me, yammering on here. I just wanted to write you and thank you Hermione. You didn't have to do what you did, especially after how things went after the war. Pavarti and I really appreciate it, though. At least we have each other to help with the kids. Between that and the safety net you have provided, we can breathe a little easier now. I know you didn't put your name on it or ask for thanks, but Pavarti and I wanted you to know we greatly appreciate it. We really do._

 _All our best to you and yours,_

 _Lavender, Parvati, Sean, & Veronica_

* * *

 _ **Undead Mummy Unearthed Across the Pond in NYC!**_

 _About two years ago, New York acquired a very strange situation involving sand. To the shock of the entire world, it rapidly became a desert-sized problem after vast amounts of sand that seemed to come gushing from nowhere ended up engulfing the entire teeming metropolis of New York City. It's taken over a year to finally construct a stable tunnel down into the depths to reach what many had thought might be a hidden tomb of some sort. Curse-breakers from Gringotts speculated it was somehow the result of a Dark curse that may have been inadvertently triggered, but they said it wasn't likely to be a standard 'no trespassing' curse. Rumour had it that it was a curse to keep whatever was below the sand sealed away permanently._

 _A mummy was recovered from a cavern down below, which may have actually been the remains of transport tunnel or subway station. Experts had classified it as a Class XXXXX magical artefact due to uncontrollable eruptions of sand that burst from the body at seemingly random times. Attempts to identify the mummy have proved rather problematic, as every attempt to do so results in said mummy being identified as the notorious missing fugitive, Ronald Bilius Weasley, who is wanted for his refusal to even make arrangements to cover multiple years' worth of outstanding UK's Child Maintenance or US's Child Support payments as well as random payments and fines that have been accrued through Weasley's irresponsible procreation in a few other countries as well. While they haven't ruled out the possibility that the undead mummy might indeed be Ronald B. Weasley, many noted researchers are highly confused as to how his body could have become markedly desiccated and cursed into said state in such a remarkably short period of time._

" _Curses_ that _strong take either the power of a lot of mutual hatred or a lifetime's worth of sins," Magical Archeologist and Wizarding Studies Researcher Melody Harcourt-Taylor stated. "Such things were far more common back when Egypt was still building pyramids rather in than today's modern magical world."_

 _The cursed mummy is currently being held in a custom-built chamber in a specialised holding facility deep within Wizarding Area 52 ¾. Sand is being channeled from it into a goblin-run and owned production facility to be used for the manufacture of richly-detailed and highly-coveted goblin glassware and crystalware, including their highly prized and sought after custom-engraved wedding goblets._

 _As for the fate of the mummy, who has been nicknamed "Runny" while identification continues to go on, it looks like Runny will be kept under wraps (no pun intended) for as long as it continues to spew forth massive amounts of sand._

 _As for New York City's "Blooming Desert", the Magical Congress of the United States of America has decreed it to be a refuge for the rare magical sand-bunting, the three-toed bandicoot, the sneezing sand-flower, and the once-rare and elusive were-camel, which transforms during any and all sun exposure._

 _Unlike other were-species, were-camels are peaceful herbivores which travel in bands for protection during the day. They sleep at night, usually together to stay warm, and then roam the dunes during the day as were-camels._

 _All visitors are being cautioned to wear protective clothing lest they be spit upon by a were-camel and subsequently undergo the transformations themselves._

 _A researcher has estimated that perhaps 50% of the lost people of NYC have been infected with werecamelism. Experts, however, are telling us not to be alarmed. Were-camels never leave the desert. So the easiest way to avoid the problem is avoid travelling the desert entirely._

 _The rest of the populace seems to have succumbed to some sort of area-wide curse that was released at ground zero, and those who did_ not _become some sort of desert-animal (magical or otherwise) were apparently transformed into various forms of foliage that has popped up around the desert city. One area in particular, has been christened the Sand Garden of Sodom and Gomorrah as all who were caught in the act of looking back on the epicentre were turned into statues made entirely of salt—frozen in time wearing expensive business suits, ties, and carrying equally expensive briefcases. Strangely, located squarely in the middle of the entire mess is a very extensive exotic cacti garden, all gathered around a massive corporate meeting table. As for who these unfortunates were before their transformation into various specimens of prickly plant life, sadly, that continues to remain a mystery._

* * *

As Odin stepped out of the Bifröst, he suddenly realised that his guards had somehow not been transported along with him, and that, quite strangely, no response was forthcoming from Heimdall when he called out to the All-Seeing sentry of Ásgarðr.

Four young children were in the midst of creating a snow sculpture that vaguely resembled a Jötunheim frost-beast.

He looked closely at the children and around the plateau before him, but the lands were far too brown and green in-between the snow and ice to be anywhere in Jötunheim. Where _was_ he? He had asked Heimdall to send him to where he had last sent the Warriors Three and Sif, yet there was nothing here save some buildings and these children.

"Do you have an appointment?" one girl child with golden blonde pigtails asked him.

"No, I do not," Odin said, puzzled.

A young boy with long, curling black hair pushed more snow on the frost-creature. "Mum and Dad don't like unexpected company. You'll have to go through Grandmum."

"And where, my young friend, would I go for that?"

The four children pointed their fingers behind him, and he turned to find towering pillars of ornately carved wood. They looked unnervingly… familiar, those children. The pillars, too, looked like someone had taken them straight from Ásgarðr.

When he turned to look back at the children, he found they had disappeared, and, strangely, the snow-beast had apparently "left" along with them, having left behind a pile of snowy debris in its wake.

Curious.

He decided to explore the house the kids had pointed to. He knocked on the heavy wooden door and it swung open by itself with a prolonged creaking noise. He looked around in confusion as familiar surroundings seemed very much like one of the rooms back at the royal palace. The walls, the windows, even the draperies reminded him—reminded him of—

"Hello, husband," a feminine voice purred from nearby, and he spun, spear in hand, just in case—

"I'd really rather _not_ die again, if you would only be so kind," Frigga said calmly.

"Frig—" Beyond shocked, Odin's nerveless fingers dropped his spear to the floor and he was at her side in a flash. His hands reached out to hold her, but stopped only a few inches away as if was he afraid to touch her. He trembled and clasped her to him. "Frigga—my Frigga—" he repeated her name over and over, stroking her hair, pressing his face into it, taking deep breaths to inhale her familiar, unmistakable scent.

Odin crumpled, pulling Frigga to him as he slid into the nearby couch. He held her tightly, but said nothing at all. From the side of his one good eye, one solitary tear trailed down his face and fell to the floor.

* * *

"It's quiet," Loki said, nose crinkling.

" _Too_ quiet," Thor agreed, putting his feet up on the table.

Jane shoved his feet back off the table. "Tables are for food, not feet, husband."

Thor sighed, but he obediently kept his feet on the floor.

"Grrrrufff, brother," Loki teased him. "I see Lady Jane has finally managed to get you properly housebroken. At least somewhat. That's quite the impressive feat. Especially considering our mother has long bemoaned the unlikelihood of ever accomplishing such a wondrous thing."

Thor reached over and shoved Loki over. "Enough out of you," he groused.

"Loki," Hermione chastened, pressing her lips to his forehead as she caught both his chair and Loki himself, righting it. "Do _try_ not to piss off your brother when your mum and dad are but fifty feet away?"

Loki put out his bottom lip in a pout, but he smiled right after. "I suppose we can wait for our nightly tussle about the garden," he said with a wink.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Tussle. Right." She looked from Thor to Loki. "Your mother is the only one who has a chance of talking sense to your father. We _all_ know that. Better she does so without us around or I will start spouting something righteous, Thor will bellow something about his love for Jane and not giving a damn what anyone else thinks, Loki will start taunting people about their various insecurities, and Frigga's hard work will all be for naught. Please stop fidgeting, hrm?"

Both Thor and Loki shifted positions and tried to fidget a little less obviously.

Hermione sighed deeply and threw up her hands, a flash of red and black in her eyes before she turned and flopped on the couch. Fonn padded up and laid his big head on her chest, and she gently rubbed his ears.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes when a warm thump landed on her chest. Loki's head lay on her ribs as he stared up into her face, his curly black hair framing his concerned expression.

"Loki?" she said. "Are you okay, love?"

He was silent, his skin noticeably paler than usual, and his crystalline eyes were almost colourless but startling in their intensity.

Hermione pressed her hand to his cheek, staring into his eyes, trying to decipher what it was that was troubling him so. "Loki?" she repeated softly. Hermione tapped the couch with her hand, silently extending it and pulling Loki closer towards her, wrapping her arms around his body and pressing her face into his hair.

And that was when she saw it—so clearly that it was paralysing.

Loki cradled her body in his arms, clutching her tightly to himself as she bled out—the Aether forced into its prison. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing. Her body was limp and lifeless. Odin's spear had been thrust through her body—piercing her gut. Her hair was tattered and burnt, almost entirely charred off her head. Her beautiful runic markings were cut with cruel slashes—broken into pieces, just like her body. Her belly, swollen with their next child, had been bashed in. Blood and fluid stained her robes, which trailed between her legs.

"You dared believe that she ever truly loved you?" Odin's voice growled ominously. "You are a fool's fool."

"Why did you do this?" Loki wailed. "Why? Have I not done everything that you ever asked of me? Been everything you taught me to be? Have I not been a good son?"

"You failed to be a good son when you let frost giants into Ásgarðr. You have failed me ever since. I gave you a wife. I gave you a proper life, and you repay me by lying with this Midgardian goat? A whore that is no more than a rutting animal?"

"Sigyn _**never**_ loved me!" Loki yelled. "She _**never**_ cared for me! She bore me sons and she loved _**them**_ but still never gave a damn about _**me!**_ Then you broke her mind by having them tear each other to pieces! Hermione _**loved**_ me! She truly _**cared**_ for me! She was made for _**me**_. I—I was made for _**her**_."

"You were born to _**die**_ ," Odin snarled. "And so was she."

 _Despair._

 _Oblivion._

 _Kill me._

 _Please, just kill me._

 _I am_ _ **nothing**_ _._

"Loki."

Arms wrapped around him, and there was a gentle warmth on his face. Painful, glorious, living, warmth slid over every part of his body. His soul sang as it felt as though every fibre of his being was being caressed—massaged— _ **loved**_.

"Loki," Hermione's sweet voice called to him, pulling him along. "Come back to me. Please."

"Hermione?"

The image of him strutting around like a peacock suddenly filled his mind. Her warm smile that was for him alone. The exquisite feel of her silken skin against his—the sound of her voice as she cried out his name in ecstasy, panting, gasping, clawing at his body with the sheer depth of her need for him.

For _**him.**_

For him alone.

Her very first touch—her fingers so delicately tracing the marks of his face—the thrill of it, that first agony of joyous rapture. The innocent look on her face as she did it.

She hadn't _**known**_ **.**

How could she, but in that one, fateful moment. Loki, would-be destroyer of Miðgarðr, would-be usurper of the throne of Ásgarðr had breathed his last.

" _She_ _ **felt you up?**_ " _Thor's amused, annoying grin beamed widely at him._

The look on her face when he had touched _**her**_ markings—the priceless gift of their first mating. The joy, the exquisite pain that meant everything.

Loki opened his eyes and stared into the warm brown eyes of his mate, watching as the black and red swirled and shimmered around the whites of her eyes. He saw the traces of her golden eyes reflected in the dark of her pupils and the delicate hint of scales across her flesh.

She was _**perfection.**_

The perfect merging of the Aether with her mysterious endless pool of compassion: compassion that could forgive him and heal his very soul, compassion that could forgive even the likes of Odin himself.

He remembered her blind, all-consuming rage as she came so very close to extinguishing the lives of Sif and the Warrior's Three. It had been a rage born of them doing harm to _**him.**_

He was her weakness.

He was her strength.

They were in balance, together, eternally.

The image of the Aether caught in Odin's trap shattered into dust and blew away. Nothing would part them now. Odin could not trap the Aether without taking them with each other. They would remain together, always—if he could catch them at all.

The image of Lady Dragonheart's implacably cold face as she crushed the trap between her slender fingers floated into his mind.

" _Once, these might have worked," she had said. "No longer."_

"We're _**free**_ ," Loki whispered, pressing his lips to Hermione's.

Hermione blinked at him, surprised but happy to see the life back in his eyes. "I love you, my darling peacock," she said softly as she tenderly caressed his face.

Hermione's eyes sparkled. "And if you ever steal the last of the orange juice again without making more, I will destroy you."

Loki grinned from ear-to-ear. "How do you feel about giving our darling spawn a little brother or sister, hrm?"

Hermione flushed and averted her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Think of the all the hassle, the cost, the child-proofing renovations. Who would get to babysit? We'd have to think of the future, educat— _ **MFFFFFPH!**_ "

Loki's mouth covered hers as his talented tongue did an interesting little exploring expedition.

" _ **Gahhh!"**_ Hermione cried out as he pulled away. She struggled to crawl off the couch, but he planted his arms on either side of her, trapping her as he moved in to capture her breast, deftly making her clothes vanish. She writhed against him as he ran his tongue along every mark he could reach even as his fingers travelled lower to explore her readiness.

She was, he discovered, very ready indeed.

Loki felt his erection reacting instantly to how close she was—her welcoming heat.

Yet, he pulled away, crossing his arms and sighing. "But, I suppose if you insist on being so prudish, I suppose we can wait a few years until the childre— _ **MMRRFFFAAHHHH!**_ "

Hermione's legs and arms wrapped around him like the tentacles of an octopus as she hissed into his ear, her tongue running along his marked earlobes. "I want you. Inside me. Right. Now."

Loki's ability to think coherently abruptly fled the scene, and he plunged into her, giving a loud cry of his own. He groaned her name as he thrust, each time giving a ragged breath of pure desire, lust, and aching need. Her hands clawed his back. Her cries sang to him like a siren, and he lost himself entirely within her as her body clamped down upon him like a velvet vise.

Loki gasped, his body spasming as jolts of intense pleasure crackled across his sensitised nerve endings. He clasped her to him as he fell to the side, pulling her with him as their joined bodies shuddered together in mutual climax.

Loki's eyes drifted closed as their passions cooled.

The soft pitter-pattering sounds of a gentle, soothing rain sounded against the windows as lightning flashed, yet there were no crashes or booms to be heard. Loki smiled, truly appreciating the creative house wards that Hermione had designed for multiple and varied purposes.

He grinned from ear-to-ear as he snuggled closer into Hermione. At least his brother and Jane were off making good use of their… free time.

* * *

As Odin walked out of Frigga's Midgardian home, he realised that he had missed the expansive garden that surrounded the area. The circle of runic patterns created by the Bifröst were still on the ground where he had arrived, but the area was lush and green, unlike the surrounding plateau, which was snow-covered and frosted. There was still plenty of snow, but this area was pleasant, cool, but not so much that he felt he needed furs to stay warm.

Frigga had told him to go out and enjoy the hot spring and take some of the stress out of his bones, and, as always, she was right. Their talks had gone long into the night, some of it calm, and some of it not so calm. She had reamed him out thoroughly for his shameful treatment of Loki, forcing his nose down into the mess of his own making, blaming him for their adopted son's deep depression and descent into a self-loathing so profound that he had—if he was to believe it—wishing to throw himself at Thor to commit his own version of suicide.

All Loki had been until the moment he'd discovered he had been raised to be a bargaining tool—even if the truth had been a bit more complicated than that, even if the truth had been Odin had genuinely loved the boy—was a fine son, a good son. That was all he had ever truly wanted to be.

Everything that had come after had been because Loki had felt betrayed, hated, and unworthy of the throne for only one reason: that he was a hated frost giant and no frost giant could ever sit on the throne of Ásgarðr. Part of him argued that nothing would have been different had he told the boy sooner. Loki would have succumbed to his true nature and done as many terrible things as he had done all along. But there was another part of him that felt true remorse and missed the love of his two sons. _Both_ of his sons.

Finding Frigga alive and well, too, had caused him to rethink many things. If what had _truly_ brought her back was the Aether—an Aether that had been tempered through the grace of compassion and understanding. And then there was the ultimate evidence: the subtle woven knot markings that went up her spine, interlinked with the barely visible runic markings that had graced the body of his Jötunnheim-born son.

Frigga's return to life had been at least, in part, due to Loki. Loki, who had _always_ loved Frigga fiercely, and whom Frigga had loved just as much. She had never had any problems embracing Loki as her true son. No, that had been solely Odin's own failing.

Now, if Frigga was to be believed, and he had no real reason to _not_ believe her, Thor and Loki had found each other as brothers again. It was just—a _little_ too hard for him to believe.

A pile of thick towels and a dressing screen were to be found nearby. A natural shower from a higher hot spring rained down from above and a bar of herb-scented soap sat on a wooden stand. He bathed himself in the shower to clean off, wrapped one of the towels around him, and stepped into the hot spring into a muscle melting bliss.

The heat and burbling was just right, and Odin sighed, feeling much of his tension and stress drifting away like fog before the sun. The pool was quite deep and expansive, but the sides were perfectly smooth and oddly comfortable. Steam rose up from water in thick curls.

A clutter of strangely fluffy-looking spiders skittered by, and a few of them stopped briefly to regard him, their bright crystalline eyes shining like tiny stars.

" _Good morning."_

" _Morning!"_

" _Hallo!"_

" _Don't mind us!"_

Most of them ran off, but a couple seemed to be evaluating him.

" _He looks like he needs a really good cuppa."_

" _Do you think so?"_

" _Mmmhmmm."_

" _English Breakfast, I think."_

" _Ehhhh, Scottish. He looks like he needs something a little more robust."_

" _You sure? Irish might be okay. We don't want to punch his teeth in on first day out."_

The spiders peered at him curiously.

" _Would you like a cuppa?"_

Odin blinked. "Um…"

" _Do you like your tea mild or strong? Maybe something in-between?"_

Odin scratched his head. "Strong, please."

" _Told you, Scottish tea,"_ one spider said with satisfaction.

 **Pop!**

A small furry mammal showed up with a cup of tea on a saucer and pushed it toward Odin.

" _One lump or two?"_

Odin boggled. "Two?"

A spider carrying a bucket dumped two cubes of sugar into his tea and stirred it with a crystal spoon, then it scurried away.

Odin found himself alone with a cup of spider-stirred tea. Tentatively, he sipped it, expecting the worst, only to find it was _very_ good indeed. Absolute perfection, if he was to be honest.

A door opened quietly, and Odin looked up to see a small, slight, young woman with a lush, leonine mane of curls walking out. She yawned softly to herself, carrying a tray of something in her hands. She put her fingers to her mouth and sent out a whistle, but it was unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was not loud, but seemed like a pleasant warmth transformed into sound.

" _ **Krrrrraaaaahhh!"**_ a sound resonated in the air, everywhere.

 **Flap. Flap. Flap.**

Three massive young dragons landed, bursting out of the morning mist in a way that made Odin want to lunge for his weapon—but to his great surprise they landed lightly in front of the delicate-looking young woman and crooned lowly, lowering their heads for her touch. She ran her hands over their heads, checking them as one would look a dog over for ticks, and poured oil over her hands to rub it into their hides. They purred and rumbled, rubbing themselves against her like massive, scaly felines.

Each dragon waited patiently for her to finish, glistening with oil over their shining scales. She made a gesture, and they opened their mouths, and she looked inside, unfurling their tongues and checking their teeth. She then rubbed the tips of their tongues, causing each dragon to rumble and shake in pleasure.

Only when she was done did she pull out the tray along with three tiny bowls. With a wave of her hand, they enlarged to an enormous size, and she placed them down in front of each one. They watched her carefully, unmoving. Once she stepped away, she made a signal with her hands, and the dragons promptly dove into the huge bowls, face-first.

She pulled out another bowl and enlarged it, staggering a bit with its sheer size. She placed it down on the stone platform nearby.

"Fonn," she said quietly, tapping the side of the bowl with her fingers. "Breakfast, my lazy beast."

There was a rumbling noise like the hoofbeats of a giant horse galloping across the plateau, and a huge puff of snow burst away from the ground to reveal a massive Jötunheim frost-beast as it skidded to a halt in front of the tiny woman. Its outer horned jaws opened and a long tongue snaked out to enthusiastically slurp her face as the beast gave a low, growling whine.

"Have you been sleeping in the snows again, my lovely?" the woman asked, and the beast whine-growled an answer. Just as before she looked him over, groomed his fur, inspected his feet, tail, ears, and all parts in between. She pried open his mouth, checked his teeth, reached in up to her shoulder to pull something out.

 **Sherk!**

A large bone came out.

"Fonn." She crossed her arms, staring up at the creature.

Whine.

He lowered his head and tail, visibly chastened.

"What have I told you about wolfing down your food, bones and all?"

The beast whined and licked her hands in appeasement. "Hrroowwlllrrr!"

She pressed her head to his, rubbing his ears, and the beast wagged his tail just like a hound of Ásgarðr. She nudged him toward his bowl. "Eat up. Otherwise, the children will run you ragged."

The beast enthusiastically ate from the bowl, tail wagging.

The woman stood in front of a large set of cobwebs that spanned across Frigga's house pillars, and Odin wondered if she was going to clean them all down. Instead, however, she took her finger and twanged the silk line. "Breakfast, my little loves," she called.

Streams of fluffy spiders crawled out onto the web.

She took a bowl full of something and waved her hand over it. Countless little dark blobs floated out of it toward the web, and each spider grabbed one, hugged her fingers with its legs, and skittered away. One spider seemed to have an issue—a tiny metal bucket stuck on his head.

"Aw, Bucket, why is it _always_ you?" she laughed, gently pulling the bucket off his head and placing something inside it.

The sheepish-looking spider hugged her fingers and took the bucket and its prize away.

The woman stepped behind the dressing screen, and Odin heard the sounds of washing. She emerged a few minutes later with a towel around her, and she stepped into the hot spring after testing the temperature with her toe. She shivered a little as she settled in. She said nothing, but turned away from him, which puzzled him until a few of those fuzzy spiders appeared, crawled on her back, and began to massage her shoulders and back for her. She gave a low sigh of happiness, seeming to melt into the wall of the hot springs.

"You guys are absolutely wonderful," she murmured. "I love you so much."

The spiders all cheered and brushed her cheek with their forelegs before scampering off.

She turned around and closed her eyes a little, leaning her head back on the sides. "If you get a chance, let them help you relax," she said at last. "They really enjoy helping people."

Odin was silent, unsure what to say about the chain of strange and wondrous things he had seen all in one morning. A woman who tamed dragons, reached her entire arm down the gullet of a Jötunheim frost-beast—talked to and fed intelligent, talking spiders… it was quite a lot to take in.

"My apologies, All-Father," she said after a while. "I am sure you are used to far better accommodations where you come from. "We do not have as much here, but we are all quite comfortable. I am Hermione."

Odin tried not to stare. It was hard to know what to make of her. A woman, well, anyone who could work with dragons on Ásgarðr was considered a rare and talented person to be given the very finest of lodgings and the greatest respect, save for those of the royal family itself. All of the beastmasters were highly trusted and regarded persons, for only _they_ could be trusted to train any and all animals that would be allowed near the royal family, the guards, and the children. Those seen in public, all the more so due the potential danger.

"Are you from here?" Odin asked finally.

Hermione shook her head. "No. I came here purely by accident, but I chose to make my home here all the same."

"Why here?"

Hermione laughed. "Look around you, All-Father. There is nothing but us and the wild animals for a good three to four days' travel. Even the locals do not travel here for it is too remote a place for their livestock and for themselves. It is peaceful, and that is something I desire."

"Do you truly get that here?" Odin asked somewhat wistfully.

"Save for a few random unexpected guests who like to show up on occasion, it truly is," Hermione said, her lips turning up in a smile. "I am not one for neighbours, save for those that I trust explicitly. I greatly value my privacy, and I do not like misunderstandings." She ran her fingers across the distinctive runic markings on her hands and arms.

"You are Loki's—" he trailed off, unsure of what he should call her.

"I suppose that depends on what word you choose to end that with, All-Father," she said calmly.

He lifted his head up to see if she was being flippant, but realised her eyes were warm and not unkind.

"Wife," he finished awkwardly.

"That I am," she replied.

"Is he… ever unkind to you?" Odin asked cautiously.

Hermione jerked her head back and frowned. "No. _Never_. He is playful and mischievous and enjoys playing on words to get a rise out of me. He likes to drink the last of the juice and put the empty container back to see if I'll try to pour out of an empty carafe. He steals the warm blanket off my feet, and he likes to freeze my drinks with his touch so that when I try to drink out of it, it doesn't come out. These things are not unkind. They can occasionally be annoying, but not unkind or cruel in any way."

"How did you meet?"

Hermione tilted her head in thought. "He fell against my house with a flaming sword thrust through his abdomen."

Odin stared at her with his one eye.

"A man showed up near here, but he was not just a man," Hermione recalled. "They were fighting, bickering, and I did not move out here to wake up to violence. And, well, when someone shows up with a sword impaling them, I just don't have the time for it."

"You—" Odin struggled. "So you saved him because he had a sword running through him, not because he deserved saving?"

Hermione's eyes flickered. "He had not harmed me. The other, however, did."

"Loki is dangerous," Odin told her. "He could have easily killed you."

Hermione took in a calming breath and let it out slowly. "Many have tried. It seems my fate or karma to have them do so and for me to prove that I survive it. I won't say that I've been absolutely sure I'd survive every one, but somehow I've managed to do so. I cannot help but think that means I was put here to do something significant that I have not yet completed."

"Besides, All-Father," Hermione said. " _You_ could kill me as well, yet you sit here in a hot springs talking to me with words instead of the end of your spear."

"I should have you on the end of my spear," Odin said.

"Perhaps, if it makes you feel better." Hermione answered calmly.

"I should lock you away," Odin said. "Deep in the bowels of Creation."

Hermione closed her eyes. She held out her wrists. "Do so if you must, but leave Loki and my family alone. I will go with you to whatever hell you have planned for me. Here, before my husband wakes. Before my children can see their mother being stolen away. I will even bid those three and that one to stand down as you do it." She nodded to the three dragons and the frost-beast that was watching them calmly.

"I would hurry, though," Hermione said, the expanse of space swimming in her eyes. "For if they see you, there will probably not be forgiveness, even for a god."

"Why should I bless whatever union you think you have with him?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "Frigga did. She married us."

" _ **What—?!"**_

"No grandchildren of mine will be born out of marriage, I believe, her words were." Hermione said. "She married us both on the same day so we have far less trouble remembering the date."

Odin stared. "Why are you not frightened of me?"

"You will do what you wish to do regardless of what I believe, All-Father," Hermione replied grimly. "All I ask is that you do it out of sight of my family, if you should decide I am—too dangerous."

Hermione stood up, a cascade of water running off her body. She turned away from him as a red cloak swooshed gallantly through the air to block the sight of her from Odin's gaze. Robes drifted in from nowhere, wrapping around her as the towel dried her off. Silver and gold gauntlets slid up her arms as scales rippled down her skin. Delicate serpents curled around her wrists and moved up to hug her fingers. Glistening silver web pulled her hair back, taming her hair into controlled mane as two silver horns grew up from her skull, emerging from her hair and curving backwards into perfect dragon horns—the envy of any Asgardian helmet. Spiders crawled across her hair, moving her hair into place beneath the headdress, then they disappeared into her curls. The cloak settled on her shoulders like an attentive lover, brushing her cheek and wrapping itself around her. The markings on her skin glowed brightly—a brilliant blue-white radiance that faded into the familiar, unnerving red-black of the Aether's dark matter.

Brilliant black and and red particles swirled around her and formed into the shape of a tall, pale-skinned male. Long black hair framed his face as his aquiline and hooked nose poked out from the hair. Elegant black robes fell about his imposing frame as his bone-white hands spidered across Hermione's face even as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Aether," Odin whispered.

Aether-Severus turned to Odin, black eyes narrowing with a warning look. He looked about to say something when the front door was flung open.

"Mummy!" a blue-skinned child with crimson eyes cried as she ran up to her, leaping into her arms.

"Athena, my lovely," Hermione cooed, "Good morning, darling."

"Uncle Severus!" she said, reaching out to the Aether. And much to Odin's astonishment, the Aether smiled fondly, picked her up and spun her around, holding her across his shoulder as she hugged his neck and buried her face into his hair.

"Mum!" a raven-haired boy-child cried as he ran out. "Dad is freezing the orange juice again!"

Hermione chuckled warmly, the sound shaking Odin to his core. "Your father just likes to show you he loves you."

"By freezing our juice!" the boy protested.

"Dear Magnus," Hermione admonished. "You are hardly defenseless."

The boy frowned, pouting.

"What did Uncle Stephen teach you when he last came for breakfast?"

Magnus perked. "How to thaw ice!"

The boy hugged his mother around the waist tightly. "Morning, Uncle Severus!" He dashed back into the house.

Two half-dressed blond girls dashed from the nearby house into the main one. Jane's voice came out the door, "Tilde! Britta! For the love of Pete, please put on _all_ of your clothes before tearing out the front door like heathen children!"

The girls giggled unrepentantly as they dove into the house.

Suddenly, Loki stormed out of the front door, carrying the two blonde children by the scruff of their nightgowns. He tromped up the path to the next house and deposited them into Jane's domicile. "Your miscreants, my Lady Jane."

Jane sighed. "Thank you, Loki," she said, shoving her children back into the house. "Get dressed, like civilised children. Fonn dresses better than you two, and behaves better to boot."

"Hrrroowwl?" Fonn said, trotting over to the house and snuffling Jane. He lay down in front of the house to prevent escape by her wayward children.

The children pouted, stomping off to get themselves appropriately attired.

Athena giggled as she whisper a secret to Severus, covering up his ear with his hair as if to keep the secret there by force. His eyebrow rose high into his hair as he set her down, and she tore back into the house.

"What was that all about, love?" Hermione asked.

Aether-Severus shrugged. "Children."

"Volstagg, if you don't bathe that stench off yourself, I'm going to take my sword to it and cut it off!" Sif yelled, punting him out of the yurt with one well-oiled boot. "That goes for you two as well!"

A scruffy-haired Hogun, looking tousled and bleary, and Fandral with his hair sticking straight up, staggered out of the yurt with a bucket of soaps and brushes.

"That's not fair," Fandral moaned.

"Morning, my Lady Hermione," they chimed together as they passed by. "Morning, Severus. Morning, All-Father." They headed to the showers together, looking like a pair of dirty children in the aftermath of a mud-pie throwing contest.

"Just to clear the air, your Highness," Hogun said, respectfully but rather blearily. "All of our attempts to Bifröst home have been met with silence from Heimdall."

Odin frowned. "Heimdall is unable to see you. _Any_ of you."

Odin found a blonde-haired, naked child in his lap. She pulled his beard. "Hallo! Are you my grandfather?"

"Tilde? Where are you?" Jane's voice called from the house.

"Whoa there, lassie," Volstagg said, pulling the naked child off his king's lap. "We know you've been taught proper manners."

Tilde pouted. "Clothes are _so_ annoying."

Volstagg dragged her off to the other side of the hot spring and wrapped a towel around her like an infant's swaddle. " _We_ may be used to the sight of your naked arse, lassie, but that doesn't mean you get to flash the king."

Tilde pouted, sticking out her bottom lip.

"Oi, girl child of mine," Thor said, yanking Tilde up by the towel and practically wringing her out. "Why is your mother repeatedly calling your name with you not answering?"

Tilde tried to disappear.

"Oh no, you don't, daughter," Thor growled, plunking her down on the path. "Back to the house. March. Now."

"But daddy—"

" _March._ "

The girl scampered back to the house at once.

"I'm telling you, Thor," Fandral said as he slipped into the hot springs. "They are truly your karma for what you put your dear mother through."

"And how would _you_ know what I put my mother through?" Thor muttered.

"Not that hard to figure out," Hogun said, a clutter of spiders massaging soap into his hair while another shaved his face. "She lives right over there."

Thor groaned. "Well, at least you aren't taking the word of my brother."

The Warriors Three exchanged glances and sank into the hot spring, doing their very best to disappear in the clouds of steam.

Thor glowered.

Thor seemed to realise his father was present, and there was an awkward silence until he realised his normally stiff father was sprawled out on the side of the hot springs with his arms hugging the side, a clutter of fluffy celestial spiders massaging his head, neck, shoulders, and back.

Thor looked at Loki.

Loki just shrugged, looking back at Thor.

They both looked at Aether-Severus.

"Don't look at me," Aether-Severus said. "The only one I massage is her." He pointed to Hermione, who flushed crimson.

"You're forgiven," Odin mumbled into the side of the hot spring. "All of you. Full pardon." He groaned as the spiders expertly got rid of his tension knots.

As everyone tried to figure out how to react to this, a quite satisfied Frigga watched from her open window. Silently, she held out her fingers and high-fived the clutter of spiders on her windowsill. "Good job, my fuzzy little friends."

" _Yay!"_

" _Anything for you, my lady!"_

" _Horray!"_

Frigga smiled, staring out over the scene before her, content that no one had pulled a sword out… yet.

* * *

Odin stared over the balcony to where his grandchildren were drilling with the Warriors Three, Sif, and the guards. The royal guards were trying in vain to remain aloof and uninvolved, but the children were having none of it. They, much like Thor and Loki growing up, refused to acknowledge social norms and barriers. They dragged in every guard over to show them their new moves, new lessons, and new tricks.

And while Odin would not admit it out loud, a distinctive breath of relief had settled over Ásgarðr since the return of both princes and most of all because of the return of their much-beloved Lady Frigga.

Even though both his sons split time between Ásgarðr and Miðgarðr, Loki was no longer pressing for attention, rule, or even the attention he once did. Instead, he kept a watchful eye on his children. He kept a hawk's eye on his mate as well, but it wasn't about trust for her as much as his son suspected Odin was still not sure what to make of Lady Hermione. She was, after all, a mystery.

Born of Miðgarðr, she was not the goat at the banquet table, and while he had apologised to Jane for that particularly uncouth parting shot, he finally realised just how little he knew of humans. Like looking over a collection of tomes but never being able to turn the pages or even touch them, Odin had taken to watching over the younger races he no longer walked amongst—something he had done once, so very long ago. Long ago, when the Norse had elevated them to be worshipped as gods—

Odin realised he had lost touch with the other Realms, relying on his ravens to show him the world rather than deigning to walk among them. He sent his guards, his sons, his people to many and all of them, but he himself had remained stagnant and unchanging. While he could not trust those around him to do the things he needed to do, he realised his sons had found trust with each other and then some. Even his lady wife, his beloved Frigga, had fully embraced both her sons and their wives so completely that the marks of her love showed on her back in delicate, decorative indentations upon her skin.

They were all linked—not by the corruption and dark matter of the Aether—with the sort of love that made up glorious ballads and history verse. Somehow, the Aether had become something else entirely. It was not as he had so long believed. It was _not_ corruption. It was not _solely_ destruction and darkness. As no complete thing in the universe was pure anything. Light and darkness existed side by side. Life existed in a wide gradient of greys.

And Ásgarðr had come to know the truth about why the frost giants had been so cranky during the war, and it had not been a revelation anyone had expected. Now, without Ásgarðr constantly knocking on Jötunheim's frosty door—Jötunheim was now at peace, happily and blissfully engaging in what they had been wanting to do since long before the war had begun: making _more_ frost giants.

Thankfully, Odin thought to himself, most Jötunn struggled with major fertilisation difficulties, or Jötunheim would be drowning in big blue babies. Sadly, there were quite a few Asgardian males who were dealing with some serious Jötunn envy now and _not_ for the traditional reasons. Odin knew it was getting bad when Sif was actually tolerating a young "runt" Jötunn in her company. Sif… of _all_ Asgardian females. What was the world coming to?

Rumour had it amongst the royal guard that Sif had never before been so easygoing or sweet tempered as she had been most recently.

Would she? _Could_ she?

Odin shook his head. Best not to think too hard on _that_.

Yet the image of his lovely lady wife after _their_ last coupling—maybe he shouldn't blame Sif at all.

What the _hell_ was he thinking?!

Odin facepalmed, trying to clear his mind of all the—rather naughty thoughts that were currently dancing about his beleaguered brain.

But then Odin realised just how much things had changed because of Loki, and it hadn't been in the way he had thought it would. Jötunn now wandered Ásgarðr freely, but they often preferred to return back to Jötunheim where the climate was more to their liking. Now that the borders were open, the forbidden allure was gone. There were scuffles here and there, but it wasn't anything that he'd believed would happen. He'd believed the entire whole of Ásgarðr would have fallen to the giants had they been allowed in.

In a way, he had been right. Loki had been the key to peace between Ásgarðr and Jötunheim. It was just not in a way he'd ever thought it would happen. As he amused himself by observing his grinning sons elbowing and whispering back and forth to each other as they watched Sif trying to be oh-so-nonchalant about meeting up with Kalman, her Jötunn "friend", Odin confessed to himself that this new peace was what he had wanted, hoped for all along. He may not have seen it quite like it had come about, but seeing his people happy, his sons happy, and his wife the happiest of all with her latest crop of grandchildren—he was willing to accept it for what it was: a gift beyond price.

Not that relations among the Realms were all so easily fixed, if one could describe the drama that they had all gone through as being anything close to easy, but at least they had obtained peace. That was, for now, enough to make it all worth it in his eyes. He now felt true regret for how he had handled the situation with Loki, and had he but _known_ what his deception would do to his adopted son, perhaps everything might have turned out differently. But now all of that was in the past, and the future was what he cared the most about now.

* * *

"It's strange, when I'm back on Earth, all I wanted was to be up here with Thor in Ásgarðr, and now that I'm up here, I find I truly miss Earth and our little corner of Tibet."

Hermione chuckled. "At least you are no longer forbidden, hrm?"

"True," Jane replied. "Getting an apology from Odin was, erm, kind of scary."

"Why scary?"

"Because, well… Odin," Jane said, shrugging expressively.

"What do you figure the boys are chatting about over there?" Hermione pondered, eyeing their madly grinning husbands.

"Oh, the usual. Who is the studlier stud and when Sif is finally going to break down and admit that she and Kalman are a bit more than just friends," Jane said, chuckling.

"I'm starting to think that there are a few Jötunn out there becoming a little envious of that recessive 'runt' gene," Hermione said with considerable amusement.

"Dating pool just got a whole lot bigger," Jane laughed, sending a mischievous wink in Thor's general direction.

Kalman came strolling over and sat down beside them with a sigh. "Mind if I join you ladies?"

"Go ahead, Kalman," Jane and Hermione said, smiling. "We don't mind."

The young Jötunn smiled and made himself comfortable. "I really don't understand most females," he confessed.

"Well, you are what, how many years old?" Jane asked curiously.

"One thousand and thirty two," Kalman sighed. "I'm really just a baby, if you ask my parents."

Jane boggled. "If that's a baby… wow."

Kalman laughed. "Not really. I mean I've done my rite of passage and I slayed my first ice thunderbuck on my own without managing to drown myself in the ice floes, but I just can't figure out what Sif wants from me. I've really tried."

Hermione and Jane scooched closer to him, sporting identical grins. "Do tell."

"I hunted the great ice-elk and brought her back the rack and hide, but all she does is grunt and polish her sword." Kalman rubbed the area between his eyes with obvious frustration. "It had the softest hide of any animal in all of Jötunheim, and I prayed over it for three days to thank it for its hide so it would not haunt me after I took it down."

"I brought her strands of the unmelting stars, strung on the finest ice-silk cord, but she just hung them on her yurt."

"In battle she is a blur of glorious beauty, brandishing her weapons with conviction and skill, but when I try to honour her, she touches my armor but not _me_."

Hermione sighed, and Jane seemed to understand all too well. "Kalman, my friend," Jane said with a smile. "I think what we have here is a simple lack of situational awareness."

The Jötunn raised a brow, rubbing his head crests in clear confusion.

Hermione patted Kalman on the hand comfortingly. "I'm going to go and give Sif a little education on how to accept your gifts properly," she said with an impish smile. "Just wait over here for a few minutes until I come back, okay?"

Hermione squeezed his hand and wandered off.

Kalman sighed. "Are you _sure_ that it's just some sort of communication issue? Maybe I'm somehow defective."

Jane patted him gently on the shoulder. "Trust me, I think she's very much interested in you, but she's going about matters the Asgardian way, and you are trying to do it the Jötunn way.

"She wants me to spout drunken poetry at her and slap her on the rear end?" Kalman asked, his pale eyes going very wide.

Jane made a face. "No, I think that's just my Thor," Jane said a little sheepishly. "Look, I think she is going to love that elk hide, but it needs a little—"

Celestial spiders popped out of nowhere. " _Need us?_ "

"A little help from them," Jane said.

Kalman looked dubious but handed over the bundle of fur and antlers.

The arachnids moved around the pile of fur and leather, seeming to measuring it up. " _Workable."_

" _Yup."_

" _Okay, let's get this done!"_

The spiders scrambled about busily, hoisting the fur up and tugging it around with silk lines. They chewed off parts here and there, sewed them together with various other parts, wove a silken lining, and sewed that in to be perfectly form-fitting. Spiders crawled in and out of the sleeves and wove in pockets. One spider got caught inside the pocket, and the enthusiastic spider that had accidentally sewn his fellow spider in had to snip the silk to let him out. The one spider conked the other other the head with a miniature bucket and the spiders chittered at each other, but went back to work until the soft pelt had been transformed into a fine winter traveling cape.

Within a half-hour the cloak was finished, and Kalman held up what had once been a fine pelt and was now a magnificent cloak to be the envy of any winter huntress, complete with a hunting quiver lined with matching fur.

Kalman's eyes went wide as his hands drifted across the results of the spiders' hard work. "I have nothing to give to equal to this fine work, my friends," he said sadly, looking to give the results back.

" _That's ok!"_

" _Yup ok!"_

" _We work for hugs!"_

" _And body scritches"_

" _Yes! We love those too!"_

Kalman very carefully rubbed his finger along each spider causing them all to coo happily and hug his finger in gratitude. "Thank you, my little friends."

"You're welcome!" they chimed together, disappearing with a pop.

"They've been hanging around those pikas too long," Jane said with amusement. She nodded to Hermione as she came back up the hill.

"Why don't you go down there and try again, Kalman?" Hermione said with an encouraging smile.

"She isn't going to spout bad poetry and slap me on the rear is she?" Kalman asked, looking rather nervous.

"Would you prefer more slap and less talking?" Hermione asked, utterly deadpan.

Kalman blushed a fine shade of magenta as he hugged the cloak against himself and rushed down the hill.

" _ **Hermione!"**_ Jane gasped.

"Hrm?"

"You've been with Loki entirely too long!" Jane accused.

"Just think of how bad it will be after a few centuries," Hermione said thoughtfully. "What horrible traits might _you_ have picked up from Thor by then, hrm?"

Jane blushed. "I _won't._ "

"You just keep telling yourself that, sis," Hermione snickered.

" _ **HnnnnnnnNNNNNNN—Oh, gods YES!"**_

Jane and Hermione exchanged glances as Loki and Thor plopped themselves down by their giggling wives.

Loki leaned in to give his mate's cheek a mischievous lick. "You told Sif how to feel Kalman up, didn't you, you naughty minx?"

Hermione seemed to adjust her halo and looked aside, saying nothing.

"Wait," Jane said after thinking for a moment. "You mean Sif didn't _**know?**_ How could she not have known? I mean, we've been… we haven't exactly been secretive about—"

Hermione just smiled.

Jane ribbed Hermione. "You told her to touch his markings without telling her what they _**did?!**_ "

Hermione's lips twitched. "I told her if she _**really**_ wanted to express just how much she appreciated his gifts and assure him of her attraction to him as succinctly as possible, that she should just let her tongue do the talking, so to speak."

Jane's jaw dropped.

Loki and Thor high-fived each other, chortling.

* * *

 _Four days later…_

Sif crawled out of her chambers with only a pristine white ice-elk fur cloak wrapped about herself. She silently sat down next to Hermione and Jane, who were dutifully watching the cauldron of stew they were making for that evening's dinner. Rows of dots and upraised markings covered every bit of Sif's exposed skin—looking rather suspiciously like Kalman's.

"I. Really. _Love._ You. Guys," she said hoarsely, then passed out cold in her chair. The spiders helpfully wrapped silk strands around Sif to hold her in place so she wouldn't end up sliding onto the cold floor.

Hermione carefully rearranged the poor, exhausted Asgardian warrior's cloak so her current state wouldn't startle the children, the guards, the Warriors Three, or Odin.

"Rrrrrrawr," Loki purred as he walked by to give his wife a thorough snogging. "You're right, Hermione. Sif _does_ look good wearing only fur. I think perhaps I should see about procuring such a lovely garment for you as well, my darling wife."

The Warriors Three came wandering by carrying the children over their broad shoulders.

"Wheee!"

"Let's fly, Fandral!"

"Us too, us too!"

"Come on, Uncle Volstagg! Let's go!"

Hogun grabbed the two blonde mischief makers, tucked them under his arms and ran, surging ahead of the rest.

Hermione clasped Loki's hand, her thumb absently rubbing his palm, and he smiled at her.

"So did you hear the news?" Loki asked, kissing her fingertips.

"Gossip reigns supreme here, my love. Whatever do you mean?"

"Mother is _pregnant_ ," Thor said with a whuff of pure disbelief.

Loki's face brightened. "All-Father is hovering over her like a hover-fly," he said with a grin. "You know what _that_ means."

"Far less attention paid to everyone else," Thor replied, grinning.

Loki smiled. "We used to wish we had a sibling to take the attention off of ourselves."

Sif groaned, stirring and snuggling into Hermione, drooling a little down Hermione's hapless arm.

"Four day and nights," Thor said speculatively. "Not bad."

"I wonder what normal _is_ for Jötunn," Loki pondered out loud.

"The bond likely results in a high sex drive to encourage conception," Jane said in her scientific lecture voice. "Since Jötunn have lower fertility, it makes perfect sense that initiating the bond starts a hormonal drive that encourages the completion of conception."

Hermione, Loki, and Thor all stared at Jane. "What? Didn't you even _notice_ that the urge wasn't quite as desperate and the sex not as mind-blowing once you actually became pregnant?"

Hermione looked up innocently. "Not really, no."

Loki looked overwhelmingly smug as Thor rolled his eyes at his preening younger brother.

Suddenly, Loki and Thor exchanged horrified looks and then stared down at a clearly exhausted Sif, who was sleepily drooling on Hermione's arm.

"We need to get her back with Kalman. _**NOW**_."

" _Whaa—?"_ Hermione and Jane said together as the two men hooked their arms around Sif's waist and dragged her back towards her residence.

Hermione scratched her head, dislodging a spider.

" _Eeee!"_

"I think I missed something," Hermione confessed as she rubbed the spider in question apologetically.

"You and me both," Jane replied, shrugging.

" _That's easy,"_ the spider said, hugging her finger with its forelegs.

"Oh? So what's the secret, little one?"

" _Markings keep you calm,"_ the spider said cheerfully. " _Pregnant Sif needs much more calm, not less."_

Hermione and Jane exchanged significant looks. "Ooooooo."

Hermione frowned. "What would she be like if she _didn't_ have marks?"

"Something far too terrible to contemplate," Thor said grimly just before he and Loki affixed themselves to their wives' necks like suckerfish. "In fact, just thinking about it has made me decide that it is time to drag you off and do a little exploring of my own."

"The exact _opposite_ of calm," Loki muttered.

" The calm comes after, brother," Thor said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Jane gave a soft moan and wrapped her arms around Thor's neck. "See you later, Hermione?"

Thor carried her off swiftly.

" _Much_ later," Hermione agreed fervently, absently offering Jane a little wave.

Hermione's cloak shuddered, transforming itself into a stunning white cloak of pristine snow-elk fur.

"Mrrrrroowl," Loki purred, planting his arms around her body as his mouth fastened on her buttons, tugging insistently.

 **Crack.**

They were gone.

* * *

 _500 years later…_

Tilde, put on some damned pants!" Jane groaned as her nearly-grown daughter walked by in just a sleeveless top and bikini underwear.

"I _am_ wearing pants, mother," Tilde said with grin and a wink, running off to finish dressing.

"You know what I mean Tilde!" Jane huffed. "Just because your Aunt Hermione uses that awful British English does not mean you have to resort to it!"

"Awful? Really?" Hermione laughed, clucking her tongue.

Jane sighed. "You know what I mean."

"Hrmm," Hermione said, giving her a wink. "Perhaps."

Jane sniffed. "I wonder if sometimes she does that just to taunt me or if she's trying to get every boy around to chance a look up her skirts."

"Perhaps if they wish to risk getting brained by a combat staff," Thor said, giving Jane a peck on the cheek.

"Or Mjölnir," Loki quipped as he set the table.

Hermione smiled as she filled the trough with tasty greens for the pikas, watered the plants, and nuzzled and fed all five-score carnivorous orchids that were lining the planter shelf. They sang to her sweetly, having long since gained their voices due to her meticulous care. "Hello, my sweetlings," she cooed, rubbing their chins with a smile. They cooed back and sang and rocked back and forth before delicately taking the meat held between her fingers.

"You spoil them," Jane said with a grin. The orchids all hissed at her, snapping. "They _still_ won't forgive me for giving them plant food that time."

Hermione laughed. "They will forgive eventually, won't you my sweets?" The orchids hummed and sang, rubbing on her fingers lovingly. "How are your babies? May I see?"

The orchids rustled and moved their leaves to the side, exposing miniature orchids at the base.

"Aww," Hermione and Jane chimed together and leaned in to inspect them. The baby orchids rustled and leaned out to stare. "Hello, my little one," Hermione cooed. The orchid opened its mouth wide in invitation.

Hermione laughed and handed Jane a small piece of meat. "Relationships start early. Go on."

Jane looked a little dubious but carefully placed the meat on the end of her finger and held it out to the little orchid. The orchid swayed back and forth a few times.

 **SNAP!**

" _Ow!"_ Jane said, pulling her finger back as the baby orchid chewed happily.

"Their aim _is_ pretty horrible at that age," Hermione chuckled.

Jane groaned.

"I do love this house," Hermione said with a smile. "Even five hundred years later, it still feels like home."

"Well, we _do_ still live here," Jane said.

"Some of us, yes," Hermione replied with a smile.

"When I was a child, I always thought we'd live in the same place forever," Jane said wistfully. "Then we ended up moving all the time. When I settled in New Mexico, it was just close to where I needed to be for work. But this place—this place feels like home. I guess that's good, right?"

"I'm rather fond of it," Hermione said with a grin. "Even after a few centuries little has changed here, and I like that about it."

There was a knock at the door. "Auntie Hermione? Auntie Jane?"

"Come in Ívarr!"

A light blue-skinned young man walked in, his crimson eyes sparkling. "Mother sent me with the Cthullaephae. I had to beat it upside the head a few hundred times. It was really feisty."

"Aww, Ívarr, you are so sweet," Hermione gushed, pulling the tall boy down to press her forehead to his in greeting. "You've grown so tall!"

"Mom and dad are pretty angry that I'm taller than they are," Ívarr laughed. Mother is hoping my sister stays her size. Sometimes I really wish I had stayed small."

"Nonsense, love," Hermione tutted. "You're fine just as you are. You just have to lean down a bit so I can hug you properly."

Ívarr grinned. "I can do that."

"My parents will be coming by once they finally catch my little sister," Ívarr said. "She, um, figured out a way to ride the sluices into the lake."

Thor and Loki facepalmed together. "Even _we_ weren't that suicidal."

"Have you decided what you want to do now that your schooling and training is finished?" Jane asked.

"Dragon training," Ívarr s aid with a grin. "Just like my auntie."

Hermione's lip quivered. "Aww, I think I'm going to cry."

"None of that," Loki admonished, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Mom, I'm not sure what shirt to wear," Tilde said as she ducked in the door. "The red or the—"

Tilde and Ívarr stopped dead and stared at each other with wide eyes.

"Oh, god," Tilde gasped, clutching her shirts to her chest and diving back out the door.

"Hrm," Thor said, tapping his fingers on his beard.

Ívarr turned a fine shade of light purple, his robin's egg skin gaining a slight flush of pink.

Jane gave him a firm nudge on the back.

Ívarr stumbled forward a little awkwardly, dropping a beautiful pelt, a damascus blade, and three perfect Jötunheim pearls at Thor's feet. "I'm humbly begging for permission to court your daughter!" he blurted all at once, burying his face into the fur to hide his embarrassment.

Thor eyed Jane, narrowing his eyes at her. "You knew?"

Jane shrugged. "I'm a mother. We _know_."

Thor sighed heavily and placed his hand on Ívarr' head. "You have my permission."

The young giant looked up, shocked speechless. His pale eyes seemed to scream, " _Really?!"_

"You also have my permission to beat off any other suitors who haven't bothered asking my permission to court our Tilde," Thor added firmly.

" _ **THOR!"**_ Jane gasped.

"You'd rather _me_ beat them off of her?" Thor asked, a little abashed.

"I'd rather no one beat _any_ one!" Jane said with a rising voice.

You _do_ know who you married, yes?" Loki snarked.

"Shut up, Loki!" Jane hissed.

Loki threw up his hands. "Just pointing out the obvious," he said moving away from a now-irate Jane.

Ívarr broke the tension by thrusting the offerings (now accepted) into Jane's arms. "I thank you kindly," he gushed, bowing, and ducking out of the house to scamper one house over.

Jane stood there, dumbly, unable to decide what reaction was best in this particular situation.

Hermione nudged Jane and pointed to the eagerly waiting spiders.

"Oh, right, sure, um…" Jane dropped the bundle onto the spiders and then gasped in fright. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

The spiders squirmed out from under the pile of fur and other items.

" _It's okay!"_

" _We're resilient!"_

One spider stumbled around blindly with a bucket stuck over his head.

"Aw," Jane said, reaching down to pop the object off the fuzzy spider's head.

 **Pop!**

" _Thanks!"_ the grateful spider said, rushing off to help his comrades. Pikas appeared, and the fur, steel, and pearls swiftly disappeared to places unknown.

There was a knock before Sif and Kalman entered. "Did we miss anything?" Kalman asked.

"Just your son asking permission to court Tilde," Loki murmured with some amusement.

" _ **What?!**_ " Sif yelped, almost dropping the hamper she was carrying.

"Oh, come on," Kalman said, kissing his wife's temple reassuringly. " _Please_ tell me you knew this was coming? The long sighs. The even longer looks. They have forged blades together since they were both but knee high."

" _ **Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Aunties!"**_ Ylva screeched, jumping joyfully into Jane's arms.

"Hello, my dear," Jane laughed, hugging the excited girl. "I hear you were giving your parents quite the run around, hrm?"

"No," Ylva denied.

Jane looked to Sif who shook her head in the negative.

"Mmmhmm," Jane replied. She smiled at Sif and Kalman and set their daughter down. "Well, at least she's not courting age."

"Not for a few hundred more years!" Sif said just a little too loudly.

Kalman stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it, giving his wife a lopsided grin.

"What's cording?" Ylva asked, wrinkling her little nose in confusion.

"Nnnnn, let's go say hi to Fonn and the dragons, yes?" Hermione suggested, tugging the young girl with her outside.

"Okay!" Ylva cried excitedly.

As the gathered began to finish setting the table, the distinctive crackle of the Bifröst sounded from outside. Odin and Frigga came in, arm and arm, and their daughter, Nanna, and their youngest son, Bodolf, walked in behind them.

"Mother," Thor and Loki greeted. "All-Father."

"Look at you two," Hermione said with a grin. "I'm glad you all could make it." She dropped Ylva down so she could cuddle next to Fonn. The great frost-beast tolerated her tweaking his ears and kissing the tip of his nose. "Athena and Magnus are working on a special casserole that is supposed to be beyond spectacular," Hermione said. "You are welcome to go back there and help them."

The twins nodded with happy grins, rushing off to meet with their "compatriots in adventure" as they had called them for so long.

Just as everyone gathered at the table, Hermione looked sadly at the two empty chairs. "I guess there was some interstellar magical emergency," she said sadly. Thor touched her hand in comfort as Loki placed his hand over hers.

Then floo suddenly roared to life with a burst of green flames, and Minerva stepped out—looking very much as though she had been aging backwards rather than forwards. Behind her, Stephen stepped out of the flames.

"Oh, good heavens," Minerva said, almost tripping over Fonn. "My word, you're as big as ever." She kissed him on the nose, and he wagged his tail happily.

"Minerva!" Hermione stood up and rushed up to hug her tightly. "You age like Merlin himself, old friend. Backwards instead of forwards!"

"Hah!"Minerva laughed. "Not so, it seems I have stopped when I reached roughly his age." She smiled lovingly at Stephen, who smiled warmly back at her. His cloak tugged itself off him and floated over to socialise with Hermione's cloak, each seeming to have plenty of news to share with the other.

"The children are off at school," Stephen said. "Our youngest, that is. The older ones are busy patching up some sort of strange time anomaly in Beta-Zeta-B4363821Z."

"Uh-huh," Thor said.

Jane nudged him. "He doesn't make faces when _you_ crow about bashing in the skull of something I cannot even _pronounce!_ "

Minerva just shook her head. "I've stopped asking him to tell me where things are and instead ask how things went." She smiled at Stephen as they sat down at the table.

"You'd think after a few hundred years, I'd know who Godric Gryfferin and Salazar Slytherdor was, but I guess I just have only so much room for memorizing sorcery." Stephen winked at Hermione—both of them knowing he liked to "pretend" just to get a rise out of Minerva.

Minerva made a frustrated noise, but Stephen lay a gentle kiss on the of her hand.

"Charmer," she hissed.

Strange grinned. "Centuries of perfected practice."

The children brought out the food, laying it down around the table so it all fit. "Sorry for the delay," Magnus said. "We had to fight the pikas for rights to bring out the food."

Everyone chuckled, having learned quite well just how helpful the familiars of Hermione and Loki could be.

As the gathered took their seats, they all linked hands, and even Fonn came up to lay his own head over Hermione and Loki's joined hands. The dragons, miniaturised to fit through the doors, thrummed, and the orchids sang a beautiful chord. The spiders gathered on the rafters, cooing and whispering happily to each other.

Just as Loki looked about ready to say something, a crackling noise turned into a blazing circle of magical energy, and four figures stepped through as though emerging from a mirror. The shimmering closed behind them.

"Iona! Eiric!" Minerva cried out in surprise. "You two should be in school!"

"Laird, Ervyn," Stephen said rather suspiciously. "You two should be dampening a negative energy portal coming from the—"

"We _lied_ , father," they chimed together. "We went to pick up Iona and Eiric and break them out of jail so we could all be here together."

"Hogwarts is _**NOT**_ jail!" Minerva protested, scandalised.

Stephen laughed as they made room around the table, extending both the table and rustling up some chairs. As they were sitting down again, the floo flared to life, and three young goblins tumbled out, looking as though they had just fought their way through a warzone.

"Gah!" one said. "Apologies for not sending word."

"Emergency at Gringott's Tibet!"

Hermione ran to greet them, baring her teeth happily and rubbing noses with each of them.

"Mershaw, Fangrah!" Hermione greeted happily. "Vargan! You made it too!"

"We would never miss this," they said together. They tugged on the ribbon of a package and extracted a shining goblin fruitcake. "This one is extra special."

"The fruits were soaked in goblin cordial," Mershaw said with a wink.

Fangrah shook a large bottle with a ribbon on it. "Auntie Krimshank sends her best."

"We brought one bottle for the blond one," Vargan said. "One bottle for the rest of us."

The table burst out into laughter as Thor tried to look innocent, but he failed utterly as he always did.

"Tales are still told of how the blond one drank the cordial straight without diluting it," Mershaw said with a shake of her head.

"We have articles back at Gringott's spanning the entire year after that, detailing your resultant exploits," Vargan said with an amused bare of his teeth.

Thor tried to sink down into the floor.

"My son, what, precisely, happened when you drank this… cordial?" Odin asked with great curiosity.

"I became quite intoxicated," Thor said.

" And?" Frigga asked, clearly quite curious as well.

Jane turned bright red.

"We may have consummated our marriage bond," Thor said with a delicate cough.

Loki coughed. "For three whole _months_." Loki coughed again.

Hermione coughed lightly into her hand. "Might have created a brand-new rainforest in New Mexico too."

"Three— _whole_ months?" Sif gasped. Sif smiled and shared a very private look with Kalman.

Thor, upon realising that he had just confessed to having mad passionate sex for three months straight while under the influence of goblin liquor to his parents and everyone else at the table, attempted unsuccessfully to hide under the table and _die_. It was one thing to crow about being a beast in bed, but quite another to admit you were utterly smashed and out-of-control during a significant part of it.

Snickers and chortling sounds erupted around the table as they made room for the goblins to join them. Everyone linked hands again. The dragonets crooned, the orchids sang, and pikas chirred. Red and black dark matter swirled around them and formed into a solitary figure with pale white skin and an aquiline hooked nose framed with midnight black hair.

"Friends," the Aether said quietly. "Family. We thank you for the gift we have been given, for in each other we have found peace, togetherness, and a common unity of life. Because of this bond we have all united and become one—but we have not but ourselves. We have instead, become stronger, greater, adding more individuals into a larger whole—teaching each other our differences even as we share our similarities of heart. We have created our own, unique reality. We have created that which matters most. _Belonging_. Family. Friends to accompany us on the grand journey of one life or many."

"May we always carry that comfort—that peace—within us. May we always feel wanted, needed, and loved, even when times are difficult. Arguments will come and go. Tempers will rise and fall. Fights and trials are inevitable. But the thing that was taught to me by she who made _me_ complete—is that forgiveness _can_ truly be as inevitable as the rest. Value comes not only in what people believe you to be but in what you truly _are_. Sometimes, you must rise above what people believe you to be in order to touch the simple joy of what you have always _been_."

"Remember this place forever within your hearts—the feeling of peace, of hands and heartbeats joined with your own. Remember the magic of life and laughter, forgiveness and redemption. We live united together in a blissful symbiosis—as different as the stars are different—but together in mutual benefit."

"As I have found _her_ , so you have found each other. Remember that, with each other, you needn't ever be alone."

The Aether shimmered as it spread into shimmering particles, swirling into a cloud as it moved around them before re-emerging with Hermione. They opened their eyes, smiling broadly, together as one.

"Thank you for coming my dear friends," Hermione said.

"Two-legged, four, or eight," Loki said. "We welcome all of our friends regardless of species."

The two cloaks of levitation poked Loki, crossing their tips like arms in front of them.

"Two, four, eight, or even none at all," Loki corrected, earning him an enthusiastic cloak glomp.

"We welcome our family, regardless of birth," Thor said.

"We welcome our children," Minerva said.

"Regardless of how they were conceived," Stephen added.

Thor and Jane flushed bright red as the children looked slightly embarrassed.

"We welcome the mingling of bloodlines," Odin said, "that we may all become strong together."

And so it was. The Joining that had begun with two had become so much more than merely two. Two races, Asgardian and Jötunn, once the bitterest of enemies, slowly began to merge into one line, a stronger, greater line. It did not happen quickly, but over the course of thousands of years until no one could remember it ever not being so— no one, perhaps, but those who had been there at the very start. And as Jötunn blood began to creep into the bloodlines of Miðgarðr, some would say that they, too, had started to become closer to the gods.

But as for the couple who had started it all— a young witch who had so innocently placed her hands upon the markings of a Jötunn, and a Jötunn who truly believed that no other being could ever, would ever, find something to love in the likes of him— well, they lived as the Aether lived.

The Aether existed long before the Nine Realms were created.

The Aether would exist long after the Realms had all crumbled to dust.

And so would _they—_ as eternal as the cosmic wheel of life and death, creation and destruction, apathy and rebirth.

Dragonheart and the Trickster.

Forever.

Eternal.

* * *

(Celestial spiders pull the gossamer silk curtains closed)

" _The end!"_

" _The beginning!"_

" _But also the end!"_

" _Hope you enjoyed the story!"_

" _Yes!"_

" _Do we still have eggnog?"_

" _Grrroowwllff!"_

" _Fonn wants more eggnog!"_

" _ **I**_ _want more eggnog!"_

" _Mmmm, eggnog."_

"Chirrrrrr!"

(Spiders hang a delicate sign in their web)

 _ **Fin.**_

(Spider with bucket on head scurries in wrong direction)

"This _way, Bucket!"_

(Spider scurries in the right direction and friends, for the umpteenth time, pop the bucket off his head.)

 **Pop!**

" _Goodnight!"_

(waves forelegs)

" _Happy New Year!"_

(spider cheer)


End file.
